t: 


SSIN 


Pr*. 


ESTHER  ^>  LUCIA 
-CHAMBERLAINf 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 


UNIV.  OF  CAtlF.  LIBRARY.  LOS 


k- 


MRS.  TON 

Th  -party 


Mrs.  Essington 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

The  Romance  of  a  House-party 


BY. 

ESTHER   AND   LUCIA 
CHAMBERLAIN 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    HENRY    HUTT 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY   CO. 

1905 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Published  May,  laoj 


THE    DE  VINNE    PRESS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

i  THE  HOUSE-PARTY  EXPLAINS  ITSELF,  AND  GETS 

INTO  A  FOG 3 

ii  JULIA  STEPS  OUT  OF  IT,  AND  ANSWERS  A  QUES- 
TION   24 

in  MRS.  ESSINGTON  RUNS  AWAY  FROM  HERSELF     44 

IV   LONGACRE    RUNS    AFTER 54 

v  THE  PURSUER  is  CAPTURED 77 

vi  THAIR  PUTS  IN  HIS  FINGER;  CISSY  HER  FOOT  101 
vn  THE  HOUSE- PARTY  IN  THE  STORM  .     .     .     .118 

vin  LONGACRE  TRAPS  HIMSELF 139 

ix  MRS.  ESSINGTON  SAYS  "No" 162 

x  THE  MAD  RIDING 171 

xi  THE  WHITE  DARKNESS 190 

xn  MRS.  ESSINGTON  SAYS  "YES" 205 

xin  THAIR  CONGRATULATES 229 

xiv  THE  QUEEN'S  COURTESY 236 


2126188 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Mrs.  Essington Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

'  Oh,  it  's  been  wretched! '  "  .      .      .      ...      .      92 

Her  skirts  held  high  above  her  pretty,  preposter- 
ous shoes" 116 

'  For  God's  sake  —  don't  cry  ! '  " 154 

<  Are  you  ready  ?'" 174 

Such  a  strange  Julia  !" 232 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    HOUSE-PARTY    EXPLAINS    ITSELF,    AND 
GETS    INTO    A    FOG 

SPILL,    I    don't   reconcile  you  with 
that  lot,"  the  young  man  broke  out, 
after  a  silence  that  had  lasted  long 
enough  to  be  intimate.    He  leaned 
toward  her  across  the  space  between  the  two 
chairs,  lifting  his  voice  a  little  to  be  heard 
above  the  racket  of  the  car-wheels. 

The  woman  did  not  directly  reply,  unless 
there  was  an  answer  in  the  small  profile  smile 
she  gave  him.  She  had  sat  for  the  past  ten 
minutes  admirably  still,  her  face  turned  from 

• 

3 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

him,  her  eyes  on  the  flat  blue-green  of  onion- 
fields  interminably  wheeling  past  the  window. 

"  I  mean,"  he  presently  went  on  in  his 
easy  fashion,  "they  're  hardly  your  sort. 
Oh,  good  people,  but  —  dullish,  you  know ; 
the  kind  you  never  put  up  with  unless  you 
have  to." 

She  gave  him  again  the  flitting,  profile 
smile,  with  an  added  twinkle,  from  which 
his  face  seemed  to  catch  illumination ;  and, 
for  a  moment,  they  smiled  together  with  the 
hint  of  some  common  reminiscence. 

"  At  all  events,"  he  came  back  again,  "  I 
can't  see  why  you,  of  all  people,  would  be 
going  to  the  Budds  !  " 

She  moved  at  last,  turning  a  full  look 
upon  him.  The  supple  bend  of  her  long 
throat,  and  the  cool  gray  light  of  her  eyes 
in  the  warm  shadow  of  their  lashes,  touched 
him  like  a  harmony  in  music.  The  beauty 
and  eloquence  of  her  movements  had  always 
appealed  to  him  as  her  special  charm.  His 

4 


THE   HOUSE-PARTY 

eyes  followed  the  flowing  lines  of  her  attitude 
more  attentively  than  his  ears  followed  the 
first  part  of  her  reply. 

"No,  they 're  not  our  sort," — she  spoke  with 
slight  emphasis  on  the  pronoun, — "  and  "  — 
the  subtle  modelings  around  her  mouth  sha- 
dowed a  smile  —  "  we  '11  probably  bore  them 
horribly.  But  I  'm  going  —  for  the  same 
reason  that  you  are.  You  know  I  have 
never  met  Julia  Budd." 

"  But  I  have,"  said  Fox  Longacre,  flushing 
a  little,  his  blue  eyes  steadily  meeting  her 
bright  gaze. 

"  Which  comes,  does  n't  it,  to  the  same 
thing?  Are  n't  we  both  going  to  'Mira- 
mar '  to  see  Miss  Budd  ?  " 

"  She  's  lovely  —  to  look  at,"  he  admitted. 

"  And  not  in  other  ways  *?  " 

He  seemed  to  ponder  this,  his  clever 
young  face  puckered  with  an  exaggeration 
of  gravity.  He  gave  it  up  with  a  puzzled 
laugh. 

5 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Ton  my  word,  I  don't  know  !  That 's 
what  I  'm  going  for." 

"  To  find  out  —  ?  " 

"Oh,  whether  she  is  perfectly  charming, 
or — just  the  other  thing." 

It  struck  her  that  his  manner  was  more 
offhand  than  the  occasion  required  —  that 
the  alternative  he  had  just  so  gaily  admitted 
troubled  him  more  than  he  wished  her  to 
know. 

But  Florence  Essington  knew,  in  spite  of 
him,  more  than  she  looked,  and  much  more 
than  she  said.  She  felt  that  she  at  least  fore- 
saw so  much  that  to  spare  herself  the  train 
of  thought  she  answered  him  in  quite  another 
vein. 

"  You  know,  Tony,"  she  said,  with  that 
little,  settling  movement  women  use  to  begin 
a  gossip,  "  what  really  amuses  me  is  that  we 
have  n't  —  at  least  I  have  n't  —  the  slightest 
idea,  not  a  glimmer,  what  people  Mrs.  Budd 
will  be  asking  down.  She  hardly  knows  me, 
6 


THE   HOUSE-PARTY 

has  n't  seen  me  since  I  left  school  for  Paris 
—  don't  you  dare  to  mention  how  long  ago! 
And  yet  she  fairly  threatened  me  into  it,  eyes 
popping  and  every  hair  a-quiver.  I  quite 
got  the  feeling  that  she  wants  something  of 
me." 

"Of  course,"  he  grinned  cheerfully,  "they 
always  do." 

"  But  something  special." 

"  Letters  of  introduction  *?  "  he  hazarded. 
"  It  's  quite  on  the  cards.  They  '11  be  going 
to  London  next  season,  if  she  does  n't — but, 
of  course,  you  know  what  she  's  after/' 

"Not,  at  any  rate,jy<?#,"  she  quizzed. 

At  this  he  laughed  out,  "  Oh,  Lord,  no !  " 

Their  common  amusement  was  made  up 
of  their  common  knowledge  of  his  shabby 
income,  his  opera  still  on  probation,  and  his 
purely  potential  career. 

The  speed  of  the  train  was  notably  slack- 
ening. The  porter  had  made  the  round 
with  his  whisk-broom,  and  was  carrying  bags 

7 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

and  golf-kits  to  the  outer  platform.  The 
greater  number  of  travelers  had  risen,  and 
were  rushing  or  rustling  into  their  coats. 
Most  of  these  people  seemed  to  know  one 
another,  were  all  bound  for  a  common  goal 
—  the  little  city  of  country  houses.  In  the 
next  three  days  they  would  all  meet  half  a 
dozen  times.  They  exhaled  the  heady  at- 
mosphere of  their  small,  smart  community. 

The  stucco  front  of  the  San  Mateo  station 
slid  slowly  past  the  window.  When  the 
train  finally  came  to  a  stop  the  chair-car  was 
at  the  far  end  of  the  long  platform,  its  win- 
dows commanding  the  full  curve  of  the  drive 
where  it  swept  out  of  the  encroaching  trees. 

The  two,  who  remained  seated  in  the  midst 
of  the  general  departure,  now  realized  that 
the  exodus  would  leave  them  solitary. 

"  Good ! "  said  Longacre,  contentedly,  set- 
tling more  comfortably  into  his  chair. 

His  companion  leaned  forward  to  look 
down  the  long  wooden  platform  where,  al- 
8 


THE   HOUSE-PARTY 

ready,  the  newly  alighted  travelers  were 
segregating  themselves  and  their  parties,  one 
from  another,  and  were  being  driven  away  in 
a  light  whirl  of  dust.  The  travel  seemed 
all  arrival.  One  or  two  callow,  negligent 
college  boys  swung  aboard  the  smoker.  The 
porter  took  up  the  stool. 

"  I  really  believe  —  "  Mrs.  Essington  be- 
gan. The  sight  of  a  victoria  lurching  around 
the  turn  of  the  drive  stopped  her  sentence. 

The  vehicle,  so  indisseverably  connected 
with  state  and  dignity  of  progression,  bounded 
at  the  heels  of  galloping  horses,  its  occupant 
leaning  forward  with  the  air  of  one  who 
would  accelerate  top  speed.  The  rigs,  driv- 
ing away  from  the  station,  parted  for  its  on- 
ward rush.  Heads  craned  toward  it.  There 
was  a  chorus  of  laughing  recognitions.  A 
man  swung  his  hat.  The  train  gave  a  pre- 
liminary pulse  and  quiver  as  the  victoria  came 
to  a  violent  halt,  and  the  lady  sprang  out  in  a 
puff  of  light  silk,  and  ran  fluttering  and  flap- 

9 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

ping  along  the  platform.  The  conductor  and 
porter,  all  agrin,  with  an  arm  under  each  of 
her  elbows  hoisted  her  to  the  step  of  the  now 
moving  train.  The  footman  threw  up  the 
last  of  half  a  dozen  bags. 

Mrs.  Essington  leaned  back  and  laughed 
silently  across  to  her  companion. 

"  A  victoria  !  Would  n't  you  know  she 
would!"  he  observed  half  quizzically,  half 
ruefully. 

"  She  's  so<  pretty ! " 

"Oh,  pretty,"  he  conceded  generously 
enough,  as  the  lady's  full-throated  laugh  pre- 
ceded her  into  the  car. 

She  fairly  burst  upon  them,  laughing, 
blooming,  glittering. 

"  Of  all  people  !  You  dear  things  ! " 
She  squeezed  a  hand  of  each  affectionately. 
"  Don't  tell  me  there  is  nothing  in  premoni- 
tion !  I  had  one  when  I  told  James  the 
horses  must  gallop.  'James,'  I  said,  'it  is 
absolutely  necessary  that  I  catch  that  train,  if 
10 


I  get  out  and  run  for  it.'  James  adores  me, 
though  of  course  he  knew  we  looked  ridicu- 
lous. But  it  does  n't  matter,  now  that  I  have 
you  —  and  just  as  I  was  expecting  to  be  alone 
all  the  way  to  Monterey  !  " 

She  sighed,  and  sank  into  the  seat  Long- 
acre  had  swung  round  for  her ;  rose  again  to 
be  helped  out  of  her  coat ;  removed  her  hat ; 
caressed  her  coiffure;  resettled  in  her  chair 
and  shifted  the  fluttering  folds  of  her  skirts, 
with  a  regret  or  two  for  her  own  helplessness 
and  a  hope  that  the  forbearance  of  her  friends 
was  not  merely  forbearance.  Her  almond 
eyes,  blue  shot  with  green,  implored  Long- 
acre's  to  refute  the  self-accusation.  But  he 
chose  to  do  so  in  a  neat  sentence. 

Watching  her,  he  had  a  sense  that  by  her 
vivacity  she  staved  off  the  reproach  of  super- 
abundant flesh.  It  was  marvelous,  the  way 
the  avoirdupois  seemed  to  lessen  under  her 
animation.  The  wide  cheeks  flaring  away 
from  the  dwindling  chin ;  the  tight,  rosy  little 
ll 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

mouth  drawn  up  at  the  corners  in  a  faint, 
perpetual  smile ;  the  tortoise-shell  combs  that 
pressed  her  glossy  hair  close  above  her  pointed 
ears,  all  reminded  Longacre  irresistibly  of  a 
tortoise-shell  —  but  he  stopped  the  simile  to 
answer  Cissy  Fitz  Hugh's  appeal  concerning 
the  fate  of  his  opera. 

He  answered  automatically  this  question, 
that  had  of  late  begun  to  weary  him,  acced- 
ing good-naturedly  to  Mrs.  Fitz  Hugh's 
sweeping  declaration  of  her  passion  for  mu- 
sic in  general;  but  he  was  unhappily  aware 
that  Florence  Essington  had  teasingly  as- 
sumed the  remote  but  interested  air  of  a  spec- 
tator at  what  threatened  to  be  a  tete-a-tete. 
Nay,  more :  her  eyes  laughed  at  his  attempts 
to  draw  her  back.  He  had  the  aggrieved 
feeling  of  a  child  whose  game  has  been  spoiled. 
Well,  if  Florence  would  n't  play,  neither 
would  he.  But  he  was  pleasant  about  it.  He 
slid  easily  from  good-humored  flattery  to  genial 
silence,  from  genial  silence  to  the  smoking-car. 
12 


THE   HOUSE-PARTY 

Cissy  watched  his  departure  with  a  pettish 
mouth.  But  when  the  sharp  snapping  of  the 
vestibule  door  had  shut  the  two  women  in 
together  she  extended  her  small,  plump  feet 
with  a  luxurious  stretch,  and  turned  to  Mrs. 
Essington  with  a  "  Well,  my  dear ! "  that 
implied,  "  At  last ! "  She  created  the  impres- 
sion that  she  had  lived  only  for  this  moment. 
Florence  seemed  to  see  herself  exhibited  as 
Cissy's  sole  confidante. 

"You  know,"  Cissy  began,  "it  was  so 
sweet  of  Emma  Budd  to  ask  me  for  the 
week's  end,  though  of  course  I  don't  hunt  — 
but  with  poor  Freddy  on  his  back  since  the 
pony-races,  and  all  the  horrid  fuss  with  the 
plumbing  —  and  the  lawsuit,  I  've  been  really 
too  anxious  for  pleasure."  She  passed  a 
plump  hand  over  an  unlined  brow. 

"But  when  Emma  rang  up  yesterday  to 
beg,  and  happened  to  let  drop  your  name,  I 
said, 4  If  Mrs.  Essington  is  going  I  really  will 
make  one  effort.' "  She  beamed  with  candor. 

13 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Florence's  smile  surmised  that  the  name 
for  which  the  effort  had  been  made  was  more 
probably  Fox  Longacre's.  But  Cissy's  com- 
placence was  impervious. 

"  It  was  a  delightful  surprise  to  hear  you 
were  going !  You  come  to  us  so  little ! " 
she  lamented. 

"Who  could  resist  the  country  in  Sep- 
tember1?" Florence  felt  unable  to  add 
amenities  to  the  already  overcharged  at- 
mosphere. 

"  Oh,  of  course  !  I  just  crave  the  coun- 
try ! "  Cissy  agreed. 

"Then  the  hunting — "  Florence  con- 
tinued, aware  that  quite  different  reasons 
were  expected  of  her  —  "  Mrs.  Budd  makes 
her  parties  interesting  with  their  variety." 

"  Oh,  yes — variety,"  Cissy  cut  in.  "Emma 
just  craves  it !  Did  you  know  she  's  asked 
D.  O.  Holden  — and  he  's  going?" 

At  Cissy's  round-eyed  pause,  Florence  felt 
an  inclination  to  laugh.  Variety  seemed  to  her 

H 


THE   HOUSE-PARTY 

the  last  word  reminiscent  of  Holden.  Looking 
back  over  the  past  six  months,  he  appeared 
to  her  the  one  strong,  unvarying,  dominant, 
reiterated  note  in  her  resumed  American  ex- 
periences. 

"  Really ! "  she  managed  with  gravity. 

"  Really ! "  Cissy  echoed  impressively. 
"  But  why  such  a  man,  who  does  n't  care  for 
anything  but  railroads,  should  be  going  to 
Emma,  who  does  n't  care  for  anything  but 
marrying  Julia  —  Of  course  "  —  her  shallow 
eyes  endeavored  to  plumb  Mrs.  Essington's 
—  "  he  's  going  for  something  in  particular." 
She  topped  it  off  with  her  laugh,  that  seemed 
to  fill  her  thick  throat. 

"  Perhaps,"  Florence  helped  her  out,  "he  's 
going  for  the  same  reason  that  you  are  ?  " 

Cissy  looked  both  blank  and  disconcerted. 

"  Poor  man,  he  's  usually  too  anxious  for 
pleasure ! "  Florence  explained. 

Cissy  took  it  in  seriously.  "  Really  the 
fact  is,  a  woman  is  never  free  from  her  cares ! 

•5 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

But  a  man,  when  he  rests,  rests  so  com- 
pletely!" 

She  sighed,  with  her  eyes  on  the  door 
through  which  Fox  Longacre  had  departed. 

She  added  inconsequently,  "You  know 
Emma  has  asked  my  cousin  Charlie  Thair. 
Of  course  it  's  perfectly  plain  why  Emma 
asked  him.  The  wonder  is  that  he  dares  to 
go ! "  Florence  could  only  guess  at  the  situa- 
tion, but  she  thought  the  wonder  would  have 
been  if  Thair  had  dodged  it.  "  Though  it 's 
perfectly  indecent  of  him,  I  'm  sure,  with 
his  money,  not  to  marry,"  Cissy  ran  on ;  "  and 
of  course  Julia  is  a  magnificent  creature.  But 
the  idea  of  expecting  to  really '  land  '  Charlie ! 
It  's  too  funny !  So  like  dear  Emma." 

Upon  this  point  Florence  was,  silently,  in 
accord  with  Mrs.  Fitz  Hugh.  She  could 
see  —  from  Mrs.  Budd's  point  of  view  that 
every  eligible  man  not  only  should,  but 
sooner  or  later  would,  marry  some  suitable 
girl  —  how  the  proposition  was  a  reasonable 
16 


THE   HOUSE-PARTY 

one.  But  she  felt  there  was  as  slight  a  pos- 
sibility of  Charlie  Thair's  being  unseated  from 
his  bachelor  state  as  from  his  hunting-saddle. 

"  Was  there "  —  it  was  the  following 
thought  —  "  such  a  scant  possibility  of  Fox 
Longacre  ? "' 

She  turned  from  her  vis-a-vis  to  the  win- 
dow, as  the  train,  with  a  roar  and  a  swing, 
rushed  into  the  canon,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on 
the  dizzy  fascination  of  the  whirling  river 
below. 

The  stream  of  events  of  the  last  five  years 
was  more  rapid  and  intricate  to  the  vision  of 
her  mind.  The  first  light  ripple  on  this 
stream  was  her  clear  memory  of  the  charm- 
ing, inconsequent  American  boy  whom  she 
had  met  in  Vienna  five  years  before.  It  had 
been  on  one  of  her  trips,  that  were  always 
solitary,  since  Captain  Essington  was  too 
busy  spending  her  neat  little  fortune  in  va- 
rious very  private  and  proper  gambling-clubs 
to  care  how  his  wife  amused  herself. 
17 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

How  this  boy,  Fox  Longacre,  with  his 
facile  Gallic  Americanism,  had  stood  out 
among  the  miscellaneous  lot  of  students  of 
the  Vienna  Conservatory !  She  remembered 
his  passionate  enthusiasm  for  the  music  that 
he  whimsically  called  his  "  trade,"  his  spas- 
modic application. 

They  had  got  on  famously  in  their  short, 
merry  acquaintance. 

She  had  felt  it  the  greatest  pity  in  the 
world  that  he  should  be  an  orphan,  a  waif, 
with  just  enough  money  to  let  him  be  com- 
fortably idle,  and  such  potentialities  of  power 
running  riot. 

She  had  regretted  the  end  of  that  gay  little 
friendship  when  she  returned  to  her  sad-col- 
ored London. 

Between  this  first  encounter  and  the  next 
intervened  her  catastrophe.  Something  done 
in  those  private  and  particular  gambling- 
houses  —  something  that  never  clearly  came 
out  of  them  —  swallowed  the  half  of  the 
18 


THE   HOUSE-PARTY 

money  remaining,  and  directed  the  shot  that 
ended  Captain  Essington's  life.  A  grim,  a 
bitter  wrench  it  had  been  !  The  mere  memory 
of  it  brought  back  the  ghost  of  the  old  ache. 
She  had  realized  then  what  depths  of  suffer- 
ing might  be,  in  which  love  and  bereavement 
bore  no  part.  Even  the  relief  of  freedom 
had  been  overwhelmed  in  the  shock  of  vio- 
lent death,  of  disorganized  existence. 

How  vividly  it  had  set  before  her  the  in- 
stability of  present  circumstances,  the  danger 
of  depending  on  what  had  been !  She  had 
been  frightened  to  drawing  into  herself,  away 
from  the  interests  of  the  world  around  her 
that  had  meant  so  much  to  her. 

In  her  vague  retrospection  it  seemed  to 
her  it  had  been  more  the  kindness  of  her 
friends  than  any  effort  on  her  own  part  that 
had  not  only  kept,  but  lifted  her  place  among 
them  in  the  difficult  years  that  followed; 
such  a  place  that,  when  the  brilliant  boy  of 
her  Vienna  memory  turned  up  in  London, 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

older,  less  confident,  more  moody  by  three 
years,  and  desperately  "  out "  of  everything 
he  should  have  been  "  in,"  she  had  almost  be- 
wildered him  by  the  number  of  doors  she 
could  open  to  him.  All  her  social  threads  so 
casually  picked  up,  at  once  had  significance, 
were  manipulated  to  a  purpose.  What  a 
zest,  what  a  spirit  her  life  had  had !  How 
self-distrustful  he  had  been !  How  she  had, 
at  moments,  pulled  him  after  her !  It  had 
been  desperate  at  times  to  keep  him  up  to  it, 
but  every  minute  had  been  worth  living. 
And  now  that  her  long  hope  was  almost 
realized,  now  that  he  seemed  on  the  very 
verge  of  his  success, —  now  — 

She  shifted  her  eyes  to  the  two  bright 
glints  on  the  toes  of  Cissy  Fitz  Hugh's  patent 
leathers.  The  car  was  one  dusky  tone  in  the 
deepening  twilight,  and  these  two  hypnotic 
points  of  light  helped  to  fix  her  memory 
more  clearly  on  the  past. 

Well,  she  had  been  the  one  woman  to  him. 

20 


THE   HOUSE-PARTY 

He  had  glorified  her  as  a  boy  will.  What  a 
joy  it  had  been,  that  adoring  loyalty  of  his, 
even  while  she  knew  she  cheated  him !  The 
memory  of  his  old  impetuosity,  his  insistence, 
his  unhesitating  confidence  over  the  inevita- 
ble question  that  had  risen  between  them, 
came  back  to  her,  a  warm,  pleasurable  emo- 
tion. And  then  the  sadder  sequence !  For 
it  had  come  to  her  then  that  a  woman  sea- 
soned, sophisticated,  settled, who  would  marry 
a  boy  ten  years  her  junior  —  and  such  a  boy 
—  would  be  either  a  knave  or  a  fool. 

And  yet  to  get  on  without  her?  She 
knew  he  could  n't  afford  it  then.  Could  she, 
on  the  other  hand,  get  on  without  him  ?  She 
had  made  her  peace  with  herself,  through  the 
next  three  years,  with  what  she  had  given  — 
the  balance  to  his  chaotic  impulse,  the  spur  to 
his  ambition.  She  had  so  lived  into  his  in- 
terests, so  made  herself  identified  with  them, 
that  she  had  lost  sight  of  her  old  dread  of 
changing  circumstance. 

21 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Six  months  ago,  when  she  had  left  London, 
she  had  been  so  secure  in  his  allegiance  —  an 
allegiance  so  settled,  so  taken  for  granted, 
that  its  first  significance  was  almost  lost  sight 
of — that  the  separation  had  not  given  her  a 
passing  anxiety.  Now  she  asked  herself  if 
his  mad  dash  with  the  Gretrys  across  an  ocean 
and  a  continent  was  to  have  brought  him  to 
her  again  merely  to  shake  her  faith  in  that 
allegiance. 

The  slamming  of  the  car  door  brought  her 
back  shrewdly  to  her  surroundings.  She  looked 
up.  In  the  pictures  of  her  memory  Longacre 
had  figured  always  as  a  boy,  a  Viennese  stu- 
dent as  she  had  seen  him  first.  Now  the 
sight  of  him  as  he  was,  coming  down  the  aisle 
upon  her,  struck  her  as  freshly  as  the  impres- 
sion of  a  stranger.  He  was  no  longer  youth, 
painted  in  full  curves  and  raw  colors,  but 
young  maturity  grayed  over,  sharp-lined, 
strenuous  with  the  vital  endeavor  he  had  put 
into  living. 

22 


THE   HOUSE-PARTY 

He  seemed  to  be  catching  up  the  years  be- 
tween them.  She  had  a  quick  revulsion. 
She  asked  herself,  if,  after  all  — 

Cissy  Fitz  Hugh  was  yawning  prettily, 
stretching  herself  awake. 

"  We  '11  be  in  in  five  minutes,"  Longacre 
said,  his  hand  on  the  back  of  Florence  Essing- 
ton's  chair.  "  Will  you  have  your  cloak?  " 


23 


CHAPTER   II 

JULIA    STEPS    OUT    OF    IT,    AND    ANSWERS 
A    QUESTION 

NIGHT  had   come    down    in   a 
smother  of  fog  made  infinitely 
dreary  by  the  interminable  sound 
of  the  sea.     The  two  light  rigs 
that  had  sped  on  the  sand  road,  through  the 
thick  oak  shadows,  now  spun  sharply  over 
the  crisp  gravel  of  the  ascending  drive  toward 
the  "Miramar"  lights,  trembling  in  misty 
penumbra.     The  house  loomed  immediately 
above,  huge,  undefined,  confused  in  its  lesser 
masses  of  trees.     It  seemed  so  shut  up  against 
this  dreary  outside  that  it  made  not  even  a 
sign  of  welcome  to  the  arrivals  under  the 
porte-cochere. 

24 


JULIA   STEPS   OUT 

Florence,  as  Longacre  lifted  her  from  the 
cart,  felt  the  damp  of  his  greatcoat  chill 
through  her  glove.  She  saw  him,  mounting 
the  wide  wooden  steps  in  the  band  of  light 
from  the  veranda  windows,  haloed  with  sil- 
very moisture.  The  veranda  presented  the 
appearance  of  a  deck  cleared  for  action.  All 
the  graces  of  hammocks  and  cushions,  re- 
moved, left  a  sentinel  row  of  reversed  cane 
chairs  against  the  wall.  Somewhere  out  in 
the  dark  a  tree  dripped  steadily. 

She  felt  her  hair  cling  to  her  cheek. 

Cissy  Fitz  Hugh  in  her  frills  was  limp  as 
a  wet  doll,  and  prettily  cross. 

"They  must  have  heard  us,  with  all  that 
row  on  the  gravel !"  she  fretted.  "There — 
at  last ! " 

The  door  had  opened,  presenting  them 
precipitately  with  the  heart  of  the  house  — 
the  big  wainscoted  living-hall,  rugged,  di- 
vaned,  firelit,  and  full  of  people.  They  were 
not  really  more  than  a  dozen,  the  women  in, 

25 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

golf-shirts,  the  men  in  shooting-coats  and 
leggings  —  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  a  day's 
sport  made  sociable  with  tea. 

Their  high,  cheery  babble  just  paused  and 
caught  its  note  again  as  Mrs.  Budd,  hard 
upon  the  heels  of  the  maid  who  had  opened 
the  door,  fairly  pounced  upon  her-  belated 
guests,  and  sucked  them  in  to  a  pleasant 
snapping  of  talk  and  wood  fires.  Her  tall, 
robust  figure  in  its  red  golf-waistcoat  bristled 
with  welcomes. 

"Now  I  know  you  're  drenched!  The 
fog  's  a  perfect  rain!  I  'm  so  glad." 

She  kissed  Cissy  warmly,  her  eyes  snap- 
ping meanwhile  from  Florence  to  Longacre. 

"  Come  straight  to  the  fire.  Do  come  to 
the  fire,  Mrs.  Essington,  and  Agnes  shall 
take  your  wet  things." 

Alert  for  impending  introductions,  she  half 

turned  to  Florence  with  the  name  of  a  guest 

at  her  lips,  but  Florence  had  already  been  cut 

off  from  the  rest  of  the  party  by  a  large  man 

26 


JULIA   STEPS   OUT 

with  his  hands  in  the  sagging  pockets  of  an 
old  shooting-coat.  He  had  at  the  same  time, 
in  an  incredibly  short  space,  furnished  her 
with  tea,  and  now  stood  above  her  while  she 
drank  it,  rocking  softly  to  and  fro  on  his 
feet,  and  talking  steadily.  Occasionally  he 
gesticulated  with  a  large,  open  hand. 

Cissy  Fitz  Hugh  had  gone  her  own  way 
some  distance  into  a  number  of  conversa- 
tions. It  devolved  upon  Longacre  to  be  led 
about  the  circle  with  a  name  here  and  a  name 
there,  and  a  blur  of  presences  that  vexed  his 
continental  habit,  and  left  him,  at  the  finish, 
still  face  to  face  with  his  hostess. 

She  promptly  cast  upon  the  shore  of  con- 
versation the  first  drift  of  her  own  interest. 

"  And  what  in  the  world  has  become  of 
Julia!"  she  exclaimed.  She  almost  chal- 
lenged him  with  it.  "  You  would  think  two 
hours  would  be  enough  to  ride  round  *  Tres 
Pinos,'  especially  with  her  friends  coming  — 
and  all  this  fog ! " 

27 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Her  smile  stayed  with  him  while  her  eyes 
roved  to  the  windows.  She  was  notably  ex- 
pectant, but  not,  as  Longacre  seemed  to 
sense  it,  so  anxious  as  would  be  natural  to  a 
mother  whose  daughter  has  chosen  the  coast 
road  on  a  thick  night.  While  he  said  some- 
thing amiable  about  the  safeness  of  sand 
roads  and  the  instinct  of  a  horse,  he  felt  that 
he  was  looking  hardly  less  expectant  than  she. 

"And  where  's  dear  Julia*?"  Cissy  Fitz 
Hugh's  voice  preceded  her  into  the  group. 

"Oh,  Julia  — " 

The  name,  tossed  back  and  forth,  arrested 
Florence  Essington's  attention. 

"Julia  is  a  very  naughty  child,"  Mrs. 
Budd  happily  proclaimed.  "She  said  she 
would  be  home  by  five,  and  then  she  made 
me  promise  not  to  wait  tea  for  her."  Her 
eloquent  hands  deprecated  those  of  the  clock, 
which  pointed  to  half  after  six.  "  And  now 
she  's  hardly  time  to  dress  for  dinner! " 

"Julia,*  said  Holden,  turning  his  large 
28 


JULIA   STEPS   OUT 

head  on  his  shoulder,  "  may  come  to  dinner 
in  her  riding-boots,  so  long  as  she  comes." 

"  Just  what  /  've  always  said,  Mr.  Holden," 
Cissy  seconded.  "Dear  Julia — " 

"  Well,  there  they  are ! "  cried  Mrs.  Budd, 
her  eyes  flying  to  the  door.  Holden  opened 
it  on  the  white  darkness. 

Two  voices,  basso  and  falsetto,  were  call- 
ing through  the  fog.  Two  horses  were 
backing  and  sidling  at  the  steps.  Then  a 
tall  young  woman  came  laughing  and  stamp- 
ing through  the  open  doorway. 

The  magnetism  of  her  bounding  vital- 
ity touched  Florence  Essington  before  she 
looked ;  for  her  first  look  was  to  Longacre. 
He  was  suddenly  brightened,  more  interested 
in  what  he  was  saying  to  Cissy  Fitz  Hugh ; 
and  Florence,  seeing,  had  a  sensation  of  lone- 
liness, of  desertion,  that  amounted  to  antag- 
onism as  she  turned  her  eyes  to  the  girl.  The 
feeling  ached  through  her  pure  pleasure  in 
the  other's  extraordinary  beauty. 
29 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Julia  was  hatless.  Her  hair,  crystalled  with 
mist,  stood  off  her  forehead  in  a  glistening 
bush.  That  dark,  back-brushed  nimbus  gave 
the  suggestion  of  some  great,  fine  lady  of  an- 
other day.  The  magnificent  sweep  of  her 
black  brows  seemed  to  dress  her  forehead. 
The  blood  of  her  vigorous  body  burned  in 
her  crimson  cheeks  and  lips.  She  moved  in 
an  atmosphere  of  vital  energy.  She  domi- 
nated the  room. 

Her  mother  seemed  scarcely  able  to  keep 
her  hands  off  her. 

"  Why,  darling^  what  is  the  matter  ?  IVky 
are  you  so  late  ?  " 

"Awfully  sorry,  mama.  We  could  n't 
help  it.  Mr.  Thair  could  n't  see  the  face  of 
his  watch. —  How  d'  y'  do,  Mrs.  Fitz  Hugh. 
—  Besides,  the  ocean  was  too  splendid  ! " 

"But  where  is  your  hat,  pet?  "  Mrs.  Budd 
still  hovered,  tender  and  voluble. 

"Blew  off,"  said  Julia,  blithely.  "Mr. 
Thair  tried  to  find  it,  and  nearly  lost  himself 

3° 


JULIA   STEPS   OUT 

in  the  fog.  Bless  you,  mother,  we  could  n't 
see  our  saddle-pommels ! " 

"Here  's  Mr.  Longacre,"  murmured  her 
mother,  remindingly. 

The  girl  gave  him  a  full  hand-clasp.  Her 
spirits  seemed  to  take  another  leap. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  come  down  earlier, 
Mr.  Longacre  ?  We  should  have  given  you 
a  run  for  your  money." 

"  Oh,  there  '11  be  another  night  like  this 
for  me,"  said  Longacre,  with  confidence. 

Mrs.  Budd  looked  at  him  with  dim  dis- 
may, but  the  entrance  of  Charlie  Thair  di- 
verted her.  Lean,  keen,  and  smiling,  his 
unusually  animated,  not  to  say  joyous,  bear- 
ing gave  her  reassurance.  Her  eyes  traveled 
to  Julia  for  confirmation,  but  Julia  was  dis- 
concertingly oblivious  of  Thair's  presence. 
Her  vivid  gestures  and  high  animation  were 
all  for  Longacre.  Mrs.  Budd's  forehead 
showed  a  cleft  of  anxiety  not  to  be  erased 
by  her  most  scrupulous  smiles.  Among  the 

31 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

groups,  dispersing  to  dress  for  dinner,  she 
tried  to  reach  her  daughter ;  but  the  girl  had 
been  swept  up-stairs,  the  center  of  a  knot  of 
women.  The  slow-moving  Holden  detained 
Mrs.  Budd  until  she  had  left  hardly  that  al- 
lotted time  in  which  the  most  expeditious 
woman  can  be  groomed  and  gowned. 

But  Mrs.  Budd  was  superior  to  time  in 
point  of  determination.  She  hurried  her 
maid  to  the  woman's  distraction,  and  half 
an  hour  before  the  first  of  her  guests  could  be 
expected  she  knocked  at  her  daughter's  door. 

Julia  was  in  a  white  and  crimson  comb- 
ing-gown,  with  her  hair  streaming;  but  she 
had  not  yet  removed  her  wet  riding-boots, 
and  there  was,  to  Mrs.  Budd's  eye,  some- 
thing distressingly  indiscreet  in  such  foot- 
gear appearing  from  the  folds  of  a  peignoir. 

"  Oh,  Julia  dear  !  "  she  remonstrated. 

Julia  laughed,  and  offered  a  spurred  heel 
to  the  maid.  "I  can't  bear  to  take  them 
off,"  she  said. 

32 


JULIA   STEPS   OUT 

"You  did  have  a  nice  time,  did  n't  you, 
pettie,  in  spite  of  the  dripping  fog  and  the 
dreadful  wind !  But  I  should  have  been 
anxious  if  you  had  been  with  any  one  but 
Charlie  Thair.  You  did  have  a  nice  time, 
did  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Magnificent !     Uproarious ! " 

"  Oh,  not  uproarious ! "  her  mother  pro- 
tested. 

"  Yes,  really.  I  should  think  you  would 
have  heard  us !  We  sang, '  The  Hounds  of 
Maynell,'  from  the  landing  to  the  lighthouse 
as  hard  as  we  could  shout.  We  got  the 
triple  echo  to  saying  all  sorts  of  things.  And 
then — "  she  paused,  fitting  her  feet  into 
white  satin  shoes,  while  Mrs.  Budd  agonized 
in  suspense  — "  well,  then,  when  we  got  out 
to  '  Tres  Pinos '  there  was  such  a  surf  we 
simply  had  to  yell  to  make  each  other  hear. 
And  there,"  concluded  Julia,  with  a  flourish  of 
animation,  quite  as  though  she  had  reached  the 
climax  of  her  tale  —  "  there  my  hat  blew  off." 

33 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Mrs.  Budd  threw  her  hands  in  her  lap  with 
a  gesture  of  resignation  not  lost  upon  her 
daughter. 

"  And  Charlie  was  such  a  dear !  "  Julia 
smiled  tenderly  at  the  toe  of  her  shoe,  and 
Mrs.  Budd  gathered  a  faint  hope. 

"  He  piled  off  his  horse  and  fell  around  in 
trie  fog  for  half  an  hour,  and  nearly  drowned 
himself,  till  I  said,  'Oh,  let  it  go,'  and  he 
said,  '  All  right,  young  madam,'  and  off  we 
went." 

Mrs.  Budd's  expression  of  acute  disap- 
pointment arrested  her  daughter's  attention. 
"  Why,  what  did  you  expect  he  did,  mama  ? 
Surely  not  something  horrid  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  no.  I  'm  quite  certain,  Julia, 
if  Charlie  Thair  ever  did  anything  at  all,  it 
could  not  be  horrid." 

Julia  stared  a  minute  at  this  ambiguous 
paradox.  Then  she  chuckled. 

"  I  never  liked  him  so  much,  mama.  I 
got  him  all  waked  up.  He  did  n't  have  any 

34 


JULIA  STEPS   OUT 

time  to  be  witty  or  tiresome.  And  on  the 
way  home  what  do  you  think  he  said  *?  " 

Mrs.  Budd  hung  upon  the  revelation. 

"  He  said,"  Julia  continued,  with  a  touch 
of  pride,  "  that  I  was  awfully  good  sorts,  if  I 
was  a  beauty.  Now  was  n't  that  nice  of 
him,  mama  ?  " 

Mrs.  Budd  gasped.  There  were  almost 
tears  in  her  reply. 

"  My  dear  Julia,  you  must  not  encourage 
that  sort  of  attitude  in  a  man.  You  must 
not  forget  that  you  are  no  longer  a  child. 
And  I  don't  at  all  approve  of  your  stram- 
ming  round  the  country,  singing  at  the  top 
of  your  lungs,  in  your  second  season  !  Sup- 
pose you  had  met  those  people  driving  up 
from  the  station ! " 

"  Who  is  the  woman  who  came  with  Mr. 
Longacre  *?  "  Julia  inquired  irrelevantly. 

"  Oh,  that  's  Mrs.  Essington,  Kitty  Wy- 
kofPs  daughter.  Kitty  married  her  to  some 
Englishman  —  a  wretch!  She  's  lived  in 

35 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

London  for  years.  She  knows  Mr.  Long- 
acre.  I  'm  so  glad  she  's  come !  I  don't 
know  what  we  should  have  done  with  him 
if  she  had  n't !  He  's  queer  as  '  Dick's  hat- 
band ' ! " 

"  ^ueer  ?  "  Julia  threw  the  word  out  like 
a  missile. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Mrs.  Budd  said 
vaguely.  "  He  's  written  an  opera,  and  when 
he  does  talk  one  can't  always  make  sure  of 
what  he  means.  And  look  at  his  neckties !  " 
Mrs.  Budd's  eloquent  gesture  condemned 
them  out  of  hand. 

"There  's  nothing  the  matter  with  his 
neckties,"  said  her  daughter,  coldly.  "  I 
hear  some  one  going  down,  mama." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  her 
mother  threw  over  her  shoulder;  "but  if 
they  were  quite  right,  one  would  n't  notice 
them." 

After  the  door  had  closed  on  Mrs.  Budd's 
glittering  wake,  the  girl  stood  motionless, 

36 


JULIA   STEPS   OUT 

her  eyes  on  her  mirror.  But  her  conscious 
sight  was  turned  inward.  She  was  struggling 
to  recall  a  clear  image  of  the  neckties,  which 
she  was  certain  she  had  never  noticed.  What 
was  it  about  them  her  mother  so  earnestly 
deplored  ?  But  her  mental  vision  persisted 
in  rising  above  the  garment  in  question  to 
the  eyes  that  could  look  so  steadily  without 
staring ;  and  through  those  eyes  she  began  to 
see  her  own.  Shining  hazel  shot  with  hot 
yellow  replaced  the  blue  —  two  flowering 
cheeks,  and  a  crimson  line  of  lips.  Pres- 
ently these  smiled  at  her. 

She  drew  back  a  step,  turned  half  away 
from  the  glass,  looked  again,  wriggled  her 
white  shoulders  luxuriously  in  her  lace  bod- 
ice, held  the  hand-mirror  high,  and,  brows 
drawn  to  one  black  line,  earnestly  contem- 
plated her  own  profile. 

Then  she  smiled,  threw  the  glass  on  the 
dressing-table,  and  turned  to  the  door. 

She   had   a   pleasant   excitement   in   the 

37 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

thought  of  meeting  Longacre.  Those  cool, 
blue  eyes  she  had  vaguely  felt  to  be  a  bit 
critical  through  their  admiration.  They 
roused  in  her  the  child's  impulse  to  "  show 
off,"  to  surprise  them  into  unreserved  praise. 
Other  men  were  satisfied  to  find  her  beauti- 
ful, but  he  seemed  to  require  more.  Well, 
he  should  see,  she  thought,  with  a  shake  of 
her  darkly  burnished  head. 

He  loomed  so  large  to  her  mental  vision 
that  when  she  actually  saw  him  he  seemed 
small  and  quiet,  less  than  she  had  expected 
—  yet  (the  eyes  again)  somehow  more.  He 
was  opposite  her  at  dinner.  She  caught  her- 
self comparing  his  tie  with  Thair's,  relieved 
to  find  them  identical,  to  see,  as  Longacre's 
head  turned  toward  the  woman  on  his  right, 
that  the  blond  hair,  longish  over  the  fore- 
head, was  clipped  close  behind  the  ears. 
Correct  as  one  could  wish ;  and  yet,  her 
mother  had  said  he  was  queer.  Well,  he 
was  —  different,  odd.  She  felt  ashamed  of 

38 


JULIA  STEPS   OUT 

her  inventory,  but  —  well,  a  man  could  not 
afford  to  be  odd. 

She  reproached  herself.  He  would  not 
condemn  her  for  —  wearing  lawn  over  satin. 
But  again,  he  would  —  if  she  sang  a  false 
note.  Well,  he  should  see  ! 

They  had  not  exchanged  a  word  between 
the  time  she  had  come  down  and  the  serving 
of  dinner;  but  with  coffee  in  the  drawing- 
room  she  asked  him  casually  if  he  would 
play  an  accompaniment. 

Longacre  was  vaguely  dismayed.  He  had 
not  known  that  Julia  sang.  He  abhorred 
drawing-room  songs,  built  to  show  the  voice 
as  a  stage  gown  to  show  the  figure.  At  the 
worst,  he  felt  he  could  not  forgive  her.  At 
the  best,  it  must  be  less  beautiful  than  she. 
And  that  he  should  second  such  a  perform- 
ance !  He  felt  he  had  changed  color.  He 
said  he  would  be  delighted.  So  far,  he  rose 
to  her  conventional  ideal.  It  would  not, 
he  felt,  have  been  so  bad  had  they  two  been 

39 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

alone  together ;  but  all  these  people  coming 
in,  murmuring,  looking  expectant,  made  a 
show  of  it,  in  which  he  seemed,  to  himself, 
exhibiting  Julia,  at  her  worst,  to  —  well, 
Florence  Essington  at  her  best.  He  fancied 
the  girl's  cheeks  were  hot,  her  hands  nervous 
as  they  skimmed  the  music. 

The  song  she  chose  was  some  selection 
from  a  modern  Italian  opera,  a  passionate, 
melancholy  thing. 

All  through  the  long  prelude  he  found 
himself  expecting  and  dreading  her  voice. 

When  it  came  at  last  it  bewildered  him. 
It  was  everything  he  had  not  expected,  li- 
quid, pliant,  full,  unerringly  true  in  its  leaps 
and  falls  through  alarming  intervals,  aston- 
ishingly trained.  But  it  chilled  him,  dis- 
tressed him,  so  much  more  disappointed  him 
than  he  had  feared.  It  failed  in  the  one 
thing  he  had  made  sure  of.  The  voice  was 
a  lovely,  hollow  shell  of  sound.  Could  not 
a  creature  with  her  strong  pulse  of  life,  her 
40 


gorgeous  senses,  put  more  of  herself,  of  her 
passion,  into  her  voice  ?  His  accompani- 
ment sang  the  composer's  meaning  with 
keener  comprehension  than  she,  he  thought 
savagely  as  his  fingers  fell  on  the  last  chord. 

But  the  approval,  the  banalities,  the  ap- 
plause, were  all  for  the  singer.  They  must 
have  it  again,  Mrs.  Budd's  guests. 

But  Julia,  looking  covertly  at  Longacre, 
whose  approval  alone  was  withheld,  refused 
brusquely.  No,  she  told  Mrs.  Fitz  Hugh, 
the  most  voluble  of  the  group  around  her, 
she  would  not  sing  again  to-night.  She 
looked  laughing  and  triumphant,  standing 
separated  from  him  by  the  people. 

He  felt  irritated,  out  of  tune  with  every- 
thing. The  evening  that  had  promised  so 
well  was  spoiled.  But  as  he  turned  from  the 
piano  Julia  was  suddenly  at  his  elbow,  still 
flushed,  but  now  her  voice  was  weak  in  her 
murmur. 

"You  did  n't  like  it,  did  you?" 

41 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

It  was  hard  to  meet  her  eyes,  yet  he  ex- 
perienced a  swift  pleasure,  as  if  one  in  whom 
he  had  feared  to  be  disappointed  had  not 
failed  him,  after  all. 

"  It  's  not  as  beautiful  as  you,"  he  said 
simply. 

His  sincerity  startled  her. 

"  Does  it  have  to  be  that  for  you  to  stand 
it  ?  "  She  tried  to  laugh  it  off. 

"  N-no-o  —  but,"  he  hesitated  —  "  it  's  be- 
cause—  because  I  could  forgive  you  every 
fault  but  the  one." 

That  odd,  intimate  way  he  talked  amazed 
her.  She  had  never  heard  anything  just  like 
it.  It  was  unconventional  —  oh,  queer  !  She 
felt  her  color  rising,  but  she  stayed. 

"  Is  it  the  method  ?  "  she  ventured. 

How  young  she  was,  he  thought;  how 
could  one  put  it ! 

"  The  method  is  all  right,"  he  said,  "  and 
the  voice  is  lovely;  but  how  can  you  sing 
that  song  when  you  don't  know  what  it 

42 


JULIA   STEPS   OUT 

means, —  or  sing  anything,  when  you  don't 
know,  yet,  what  anything  means  *?  " 

Then  he  saw  he  had  tried  too  much. 
Generations  of  convention  rose  up  to  cut  off 
her  instinct  for  what  he  was  saying. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  don't  know  what  you  mean," 
she  murmured.  Her  eyes  had  fluttered  fear- 
fully from  his,  caught  Thair's  across  the 
room.  In  answer  to  their  unconscious  dis- 
tress, Thair  quizzically  smiled.  He  came 
dawdling  across  to  where  Julia  and  Long- 
acre  stood,  by  this  time  conspicuously  iso- 
lated. 

Longacre  turned  not  too  graciously  to  this 
approach,  and  saw  that  their  situation  had 
drawn  another  regard.  Mrs.  Essington,  just 
quitted  by  Thair,  was  looking,  and  she  too, 
he  fancied,  not  without  a  smile. 


43 


CHAPTER  III 

MRS.    ESSINOTON    RUNS    AWAY    FROM    HERSELF 

FLORENCE  ESSINGTON  woke 
with  a  flood  of  early  sun  across  her 
bed,  and  the  sound  of  the  ocean 
in  her  ears.     But  the  fringes  of 
hardy  yellow  jessamine  around  her  windows 
smothered  the  salt  smell  of  it.    The  air  of  the 
room  suggested  gardens,  and  the  sea  sound 
was  but  a  background  for  the  clear  human 
voices  a-chatter  somewhere  among  the  hy- 
drangeas and  heliotrope.     The  out-of-doors 
invaded  the  house  in  a  positive  summons. 
A  dozen  retrospections  had  lifted  and  dis- 
solved with  the  fog. 

Her  veins  seemed   distended  with  fresh 
blood,  her  heart  quickened  with  the  sharp 

44 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   RUNS 

chorus  of  wild  canaries,  the  chattering  flights 
of  linnets  flashing  across  her  window.  She 
asked  her  reflection  in  the  glass  if  a  woman 
who  appeared  fresh  at  seven  in  the  morning 
could  well  accuse  herself  of  age  ?  Her  foot 
was  like  a  young  girl's  on  the  wide  stair  de- 
scending to  the  reception-hall.  That  sharp, 
exquisite  freshness  that  a  wet  night  leaves 
behind  it  met  her  on  the  threshold. 

The  house  stood  back  in  the  billow  of  a 
hill.  The  drive  rushed  in  wide  sweeps  down 
a  glittering  greensward  dashed  with  dark  oaks 
that  thickened  to  a  belt  at  the  base  of  the 
hill,  where  the  road  cut  whitely  through 
them;  beyond,  the  cypresses  standing  up 
against  the  blue  circle  of  sea,  and  the  fog,  a 
continent  of  pearl  and  shadow,  stealing  back 
across  the  ocean's  floor.  It  hid  the  southern 
horizon,  but  northward  she  could  see  the 
sunlight  on  the  windows  of  Santa  Cruz.  She 
looked  over  the  whole  semicircle  of  sea  and 
shore.  The  length  of  the  coast,  trembling  out 

45 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

of  sight  in  a  quivering  mist  of  spray;  the  un- 
ending hill  and  hollow,  lifting  and  falling 
away  into  the  sky;  the  everlasting,  encom- 
passing ocean,  lifted  her  out  of  herself  with 
their  power  of  infinity.  The  sparkle  of  the 
sea  drew  into  her  eyes.  The  buoyant  spirit 
of  a  joy  that  only  breathes  under  a  new-risen 
sun  was  reflected  in  her  face. 

But  the  small  sounds  of  things  near  and 
finite,  drumming  persistently  on  her  ears,  at 
last  made  themselves  audible,  growing  upon 
her  attention  until  she  found  herself  listening 
to  a  murmur  of  talking,  broken  now  and 
then  by  a  rich,  vibrant  note  of  laughter.  She 
heard  it  first  as  a  little  part  of  her  pleasure  of 
sight  and  sound,  but  presently  some  disturb- 
ing reminder  in  it,  some  painful  memory,  dis- 
tracted her ;  finally  turned,  first  her  face,  then 
her  feet,  in  the  direction  of  the  flower-planted 
western  terrace. 

With  a  few  steps  she  had  the  talkers 
in  sight, —  Thair,  his  riding-crop  slashing  at 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   RUNS 

the  ragged  chrysanthemums ;  Julia  Budd,  a 
sheaf  of  heliotrope  in  one  arm ;  and  Long- 
acre,  whose  hand,  while  Thair  talked,  plucked 
and  plucked  and  strewed  the  path  with  the 
small  purple  blossoms  of  one  of  the  hanging 
sprays. 

Florence  paused,  her  impulse  to  join  them 
somehow  quenched. 

Thair,  with  his  genial  talk,  seemed  to  have 
no  association  with  the  other  two.  He  might 
as  well  have  been  somewhere  else.  Though 
the  girl's  face  was  turned  toward  the  sea, 
and  Longacre's  eyes  were  on  the  heliotrope, 
they  seemed,  by  something  akin  in  expression, 
somehow  sharply,  intimately  drawn  together. 

Florence  saw  them  thus  for  a  moment. 
Then  Julia  turned,  Longacre  looked  up  at 
her,  their  eyes  met.  The  spirit  of  the  girl's 
voice  had  shot  Florence  with  sharp  misery; 
but  it  was  the  full  look  of  Longacre's  eyes 
that,  had  they  moved  a  hair's  breadth  from 
Julia's  face,  would  have  seen  Florence  stand- 

47 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

ing,  looking  through  the  passion-vines,  that 
held  her  for  a  minute  still,  and  staring.  Then 
noiselessly,  like  an  eavesdropper,  she  re- 
treated. She  felt  wretchedly  that  she  had 
spied  on  him,  had  interrupted  something  not 
meant  for  her  to  see.  She  had  an  overwhelm- 
ing impulse  to  escape  the  confines  of  flowers 
and  voices,  a  need  of  something  not  less  large 
and  bitter  than  the  sea.  It  was  not  thought, 
but  impulse  that  directed  her  steps,  that 
turned  them  so  precipitately  down  the 
drive.  Near  the  end  of  the  grounds  she 
began  to  run.  Under  the  shelter  of  the  oaks 
she  slackened  her  pace,  but  her  gait  still  had 
a  headlong  haste,  and  only  when  she  broke 
from  the  fringe  of  foliage  out  upon  the  slope 
of  sand,  with  the  green  waves  bowing  and 
breaking  at  her  feet,  did  she  stop  to  get 
breath. 

Even  then  she  did  not  look  back  over  the 
way  she  had  come,  but  out  across  the  water 
that  had  grown  less  blue  than  gray.  The 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   RUNS 

only  thing  before  her  was  that  she  had  seen 
another  receive  what  she  had  thought  her 
own.  Intolerable !  It  goaded  her  to  mo- 
tion. Blind  to  seeing,  deaf  to  hearing,  inca- 
pable of  thought,  she  hurried  down  a  space 
of  endless  sound  and  emptiness.  Oh,  to  get 
away  from  herself!  She  ran  to  outstrip  her- 
self, that  self  that  could  only  remember  the 
look  in  the  garden,  that  could  only  endlessly 
repeat  that  she  had  lost  him  !  It  was  upon 
her,  the  possibility  she  would  not  face  yes- 
terday. It  had  her  unawares.  She  could 
not  endure  it ! 

She  ran.  Before  her  tripped  a  sandpiper, 
his  fine  web  of  footprints  following  him. 
Shadows  of  gulls,  swept  across  the  sand,  were 
like  great  blown  leaves. 

She  had  put  her  whole  life  into  a  failure  ! 
She  had  lost  him  ! 

She  heard  the  soft  sucking  of  wet  sand 
under  her  feet.  The  point  of  rocks  before 
her  made  three  ragged  steps  down  to  the  sea. 

4  49 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Above  them  that  cypress  had  a  shape  of 
human  agony.  The  breakers  rising  over  the 
lower  rock  were  like  a  succession  of  slippery, 
watery  stairs  meeting  the  stones.  And  oh, 
the  thunder  of  the  coast ! 

The  strong  voice  of  the  ocean,  the  break- 
ers' shock,  the  biting  taste,  the  long  sigh  of 
subsiding  waves,  the  eternal  iteration  of  great 
sounds,  encompassed  her.  Wild,  unthink- 
ably  vast !  Ordered  commotion  !  Inevita- 
ble change !  What,  in  the  face  of  sky  and 
sea,  did  it  matter  if  this  one  man  loved  one 
woman,  or  another  ? 

"One  man,  one  man!"  She  said  it  over. 
And  his  voice,  his  face,  and  small  forgettable 
things  —  tricks  of  eye,  of  manner  —  came 
back  upon  her  and  possessed  her.  The  wo- 
man the  years  had  made  rose  in  her.  The 
man  was  hers.  Because  she  had  willed  it, 
the  boy  had  been  drawn  to  her ;  because  of 
her,  again,  he  had  found  himself;  with  her 
he  had  fashioned  the  beginning  of  his  man's 

50 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   RUNS 

life;  he  and  she  had  laid  the  foundations 
of  it. 

Could  she  let  go  all  that  had  been  so  un- 
derstandingly  wrought  to  —  what?  Had 
the  girl  anything  but  her  glorious  flesh  — 
any  latent  possibility  of  power  to  meet  his 
need1?  She  asked  herself,  with  increasing 
calm,  could  she  be  sure  her  stimulated  imag- 
ination had  not  deceived  her.  But  when 
that  look  of  his  had  first  been  hers,  had  she 
not  known  it  as  a  fact,  tangible  as  a  hand  to 
grasp?  And  was  she  so  feeble  as  to  repu- 
diate the  new  fact  because  it  stung? 

No !  She  saw  laid  on  him,  ever  so  lightly, 
the  touch  of  a  younger,  stronger  vitality; 
and  yet  how  fully  aware  was  he  ?  She  knew 
so  well  his  oblivious  self-absorption,  his  mind 
incurious,  slow  to  recognize  the  possibility 
of  change.  They  had  so  grown  to  take  each 
other  for  granted.  She  knew  that  anything 
threatening  their  mutual  dependence  could 
not  come  to  him  and  leave  him  steady. 

51 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

But  her  own  position?  It  was  that  she 
sought  in  the  labyrinth  of  her  mind ;  but 
where  reason  had  been  was  only  a  succession 
of  violent  emotions.  She  had  been  generous 
while  she  had  been  sure  of  him.  Now  the 
feeling  of  right  that  custom  gives,  the  passion 
of  possession,  was  fermenting  in  her.  It  con- 
sumed everything  else. 

What  her  strength  could  hold  was  hers. 
She  wondered  how  strong  she  was.  The 
strength  of  suffering !  The  wisdom  of  fail- 
ure !  Oh,  she  would  hold  him !  How  long  ? 
She  put  it  away. 

She  turned  back  along  the  ringing  beach. 
It  was  better,  she  thought,  to  be  rooted  like 
the  cypress,  even  to  be  fastened  in  a  great 
melancholy  unrest,  than  to  be  as  one  of  the 
gulls,  flying  on  every  wind,  fishing  at  random. 

The   fog  was   lifting   toward   the  north. 

The   coast  showed  dark  under  it.     There 

was  something  sterile  in  the  thin  black  line 

of  land  across  the  waste  of  water,  but  she 

52 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   RUNS 

faced  it  rather  than  the  deep-bosomed,  soft- 
shadowed  hills.  But  when,  perforce,  she 
turned  her  back  on  it  to  climb  the  "Mira- 
mar  "  terrace  by  a  path  through  the  oaks,  she 
felt  her  high  tension  relax,  a  less  triumphant 
confidence.  Yet  her  eyes  were  calm,  her 
pulse  steady ;  she  held  her  determination  un- 
wavering. Life  thus  far  had  taught  her  that 
of  tenacity  was  the  habit  of  success. 


53 


CHAPTER   IV 

LONGACRE    RUNS    AFTER 

STEPPING  on  to  the  veranda,  Flor- 
ence found  herself  in  a  projected 
atmosphere  of  breakfast  —  the  fine 
aroma  of  coffee,  the  strident  gaiety 
of  people  not  too  well  known  to  one  another 
and  denied  the  solace  of  breakfast  in  their 
rooms. 

Mrs.  Budd's  country  house  was  thrown  to- 
gether with  the  directness,  the  inconsequence, 
and  the  charming  frankness  of  the  lady  her- 
self. There  were  no  corners,  no  intricacies 
of  passage,  no  glooms.  One  step  from  the 
veranda  and  you  were  in  the  midst  of  it. 
You  were  entirely  surrounded  by  the  open 
stairs  to  the  chambers,  the  double  drawing- 

54 


LONGACRE   RUNS   AFTER 

rooms  on  the  left,  the  dining-room  and  li- 
brary on  the  right,  with  the  "glass  room" 
giving  on  the  garden  behind  it.  You  saw 
them  all  at  a  glance,  and  saw  them  in  an 
even  flood  of  light  from  the  lightly  curtained, 
large,  plain  windows. 

From  the  living-hall  Florence  saw,  through 
the  double  doors,  a  triangular  vista  of  the 
breakfast-room.  The  table,  drawn  squarely 
in  front  of  the  open  French  windows,  was 
dappled  with  sun.  She  got  an  impression  of 
colors  and  motions,  and  the  automatic  move- 
ment to  and  fro  of  the  starched  white  blouse 
of  the  Chinese  butler. 

She  distinguished  but  two  faces,  Julia's 
and  Longacre's.  They  were  fronting  the 
door,  back  to  the  full  flood  of  sun,  and  again 
she  saw  them  together,  as  though  detached 
from  the  people  around  them.  Julia  was 
talking,  but  more  aware  of  whom  she  talked 
to  than  what  she  said.  Longacre  seemed 
hardly  to  listen.  He  kept  looking  at  her. 

55 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Florence  felt  again  a  tightening  throat. 
She  got  a  long  breath.  She  realized  that 
Mrs.  Budd  had  suspended  her  flow  of  con- 
versation with  Holden,  and  had  fixed  on  her 
a  smile  of  absent  welcome.  She  indicated 
the  vacant  place  at  Holden's  right,  and  hur- 
ried an  inquiry  of  how  her  guest  had  slept 
into  a  breathless  demand  as  to  how  she  pre- 
ferred her  coffee. 

Florence  found  herself  fronting  Longacre, 
who  was  pent  between  Cissy  Fitz  Hugh's 
pettish  prettiness  and  Julia's  accented  gaiety. 
He  looked  up  at  Florence  as  if  he  had  come 
out  of  a  dream.  His  eyes  met  hers  across 
the  table,  whimsically  asking :  Was  n't  it, 
after  all,  just  the  jolliest,  stupidest  possible 
lark?  But  she  did  not  answer  the  look. 
She  would  n't.  The  smile  that  she  did  give 
him  was  a  mere  good  morning,  the  same  as 
she  had  given  Holden  when  he  drew  back 
her  chair  for  her.  Her  whole  attention 
seemed  for  Thair,  who  had  immediately 

56 


LONGACRE   RUNS   AFTER 

turned  on  her  the  genial  impudence  of  his 
odd,  light  eyes  that  seemed  to  see  consum- 
mately through  half-closed  lids. 

"You  are  truly  the  most  extraordinary 
person,"  he  was  saying.  "  One  sees  you  in 
the  first  flush  of  day  half  a  mile  on  the  road 
to  the  sea.  And  presently  you  come  in, 
straight  from  the  fountain  of  youth,  and  re- 
member immediately  how  many  lumps  you 
take  in  your  coffee." 

"  And  you  —  "  She  just  hesitated.  She 
saw  Longacre  still  looking  at  her  —  "  are  too 
delightfully  naive ! "  Her  eyes  returned  to 
Thair's  mocking  face.  "  It 's  not  a  medicine 
one  permits  one's  self  before  breakfast." 

He  laughed  with  whetted  interest. 

"  What  will  you  have  ?  I  am  all  at  your 
commands." 

"  Mercy,  Charlie,"  Cissy  cut  in,  "  I  should 
think  you  'd  know  all  any  one  expects  of 
you  is  to  be  amusing ! "  She  glanced  mali- 
ciously at  Mrs.  Budd. 

57 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Can  you  prove  your  reputation  for  wit?" 
Florence  asked  him. 

Thair  leaned  back,  chin  up,  eyes  down. 
He  was  enjoying  himself. 

"  The  reputation  for  wit,"  he  proclaimed, 
"hangs  on  the  things  a  man  has  said,  and 
the  things  you  hope  he  '11  presently  say. 
He  's  like  the  'white  queen'  in  what-'s-its- 
name — jam  yesterday,  jam  to-morrow,  but 
never  jam  to-day." 

"  Speaking  of  jam,"  Julia  plumped  in 
nonchalantly,  "will  you  please  pass  me 
the  marmalade,  Mr.  Thair  *?  (Never  mind, 
Wong!)  Mama,"  she  called  across  the 
table,  "has  it  been  decided  whether  we  are 
to  ride  or  drive  over  to  the  links  ?  " 

The  question  caught  an  undercurrent  of 
attention  through  the  talk.  Not  that  the 
method  of  progression  so  much  mattered  to 
the  breakfasters,  as  the  company  in  which 
they  traveled.  They  hung  upon  Mrs.  Budd 
as  the  arbiter  of  their  fate. 

58 


LONGACRE   RUNS  AFTER 

"  Why,  both,  pet."  The  hostess's  glance 
flashed  upon  her  guests  at  large,  though  her 
reply,  obviously,  was  limited  to  her  daughter. 
"  I  have  ordered  the  surrey.  That  and  Mr. 
Thair's  machine  take  half  of  us,  but  you  young 
people  will,  of  course,  prefer  your  saddles." 

"You  '11  ride?"  Holden  murmured  to 
Florence. 

She  looked  down  at  his  big,  blunt  hand, 
resting  on  the  table. 

"  Did  you  say  your  horses  were  here  *?  " 

"Why,  yes,  the  span  are.  Drove  'em 
down  from  Palo  Alto."  He  was  eager 
"  Would  you  rather  —  " 

The  tail  of  his  sentence  was  lost  in  Julia's 
clear  voice. 

"  Bess  and  I  are  going  in  the  '  red  devil,' " 
she  announced.  Thus  a  queen  might  pro- 
claim her  progression. 

The  blooming,  blonde  creature  included 
in  this  edict  threw  a  nervous  glance  at  Thair. 
But  he  was  all  amiable  irony. 

59 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  You  are  the  leading  conspirator  for  my 
happiness."  He  bowed  across  to  Julia. 

Florence  divined  who  might  be  expected 
to  fill  the  fourth  place  in  the  automobile.  It 
might  have  been  that  possibility  which  ruffled 
Cissy  Fitz  Hugh's  forehead.  But  Cissy's 
endeavors  never  failed  from  lack  of  confi- 
dence. 

"  Well,  really,"  she  observed  pathetically, 
"  it  's  such  a  magnificent  morning,  I  think 
I  shall  make  one  effort  to  ride  over.  Don't 
you  think  it  's  an  ideal  morning  for  a  gal- 
lop ?  "  She  appealed  to  Longacre. 

"Well,  you  make  it  seem  so,"  he  said, 
with  one  of  his  gentle,  misleading  looks.  It 
misled  both  Cissy  and  Julia.  It  left  one  com- 
plaisant, the  other  a  little  more  like  a  princess 
than  usual.  But  Florence  knew  just  what 
that  look  signified.  When  he  was  going  to 
escape  he  was  always  like  that.  Uncon- 
cerned about  the  little  arrangements  of  life, 
he  habitually  took  them  as  they  were  offered, 
60 


LONGACRE   RUNS   AFTER 

but  Florence  knew  he  had  no  idea  of  riding 
over  as  Cissy's  escort. 

She  suspected  he  had  lost  the  chance  of  a 
fourth  place  in  Julia's  arrangement.  How 
he  intended  to  escape  Cissy  she  guessed  from 
his  look  at  herself,  questioning  her. 

She  gave  him  a  vague,  inquiring  smile, 
and  turned  to  answer  Thair.  She  knew 
Longacre  would  speak  to  her  after  breakfast. 
He  did.  In  the  general  exodus  to  the  veranda 
she  found  him  at  her  elbow,  a  little  quizzical, 
a  little  puzzled. 

"Are  we  going  to  gallop  over  together*?" 
he  asked,  as  if  he  were  stating  a  certainty. 

"  Why,  are  n't  you  with  Mrs.  Fitz  Hugh?" 
she  said,  with  light  surprise. 

"  I  *?  "  He  was  puzzled  to  know  if  she 
were  serious.  "  Lord,  I  'm  going  to  dodge 
her!" 

"  With  me  ?  But,  Tony  —  I  'm  so  sorry 
—  I  've  promised  Mr.  Holden  to  drive  over 
with  him." 

61 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Holden ! "  Longacre  looked,  as  he  felt, 
outraged.  "But  I  thought,  of  course — " 

"  Why?"  Florence  wondered.  "  Did  you 
speak  of  it  ?  " 

"  No  —  but  I  thought,  of  course,  that  we 
would  —  oh,  well ! "  he  flung  out,  sulky  as  a 
boy. 

"  Oh,  here  he  is  !  "  Cissy  Fitz  Hugh,  com- 
pressed into  her  habit  like  jelly  into  a  mold, 
was  upon  them.  Her  hand  was  lightly  on 
Longacre's  sleeve. 

"Mr.  Colton  wants  to  put  me  up,"  she 
complained,  "but  /  said  no  one  shall  —  but 
my  cavalier ! " 

"  Now,  really,  Mr.  Longacre,"  Mrs.  Budd's 
voice  burst  forth  from  the  other  side,  "  I 
don't  know  what  sort  of  a  mount  you  prefer." 

She  indicated  the  group  of  horses  crowd- 
ing away  from  the  gibbering  road-machine 
that  ground  into  the  porte-cochere  with  Thair's 
hand  on  the  throttle.  Thair's  humorous  re- 
gard was  for  Longacre's  predicament.  Too 
62 


LONGACRE   RUNS   AFTER 

late,  it  seemed  to  say,  to  escape  from  such  a 
veteran  as  Cissy. 

When  the  riders  headed  the  procession 
down  the  steep  dip  of  the  drive,  Cissy's 
blonde  head  was  nodding  and  ducking  to 
Longacre's  passive  profile  with  such  calm 
assurance  of  how  cleverly  she  had  managed 
it,  that  Florence  Essington  could  not  repress 
a  smile. 

Holden,  who,  at  the  instant,  had  pulled 
up  his  horses  at  the  steps,  took  the  expres- 
sion to  himself  with  simplicity.  The  con- 
centration with  which  he  took  in  what  was 
immediately  before  him,  without  regard  to 
things  behind  or  beyond,  was  a  relief  to  her. 
Now  his  hands  were  so  full  of  his  horses  that 
he  had  hardly  a  glance  for  her.  The  im- 
patient sorrels  were  making  preliminary  at- 
tempts to  run  over  the  groom  at  their  bits. 

"  Can    you  make  it  ? "    Holden   said,    as 
he    brought   the    runabout    to    momentary  ; 
quiet. 

63 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

She  was  in  with  the  dart  of  a  swallow. 

The  groom  sprang  aside,  and  Florence 
felt  herself  precipitated,  as  in  one  plunge,  to- 
ward the  sea. 

"  Hey,  hey !  "  Holden  growled  under  his 
breath.  The  reins  were  taut,  and  his  arm, 
brushing  her  shoulder,  was  as  stiff  as  steel. 
The  animals,  curbed  and  quivering,  danced 
down  the  slope  like  fine  ladies,  shaking  their 
heads  with  a  vague  threat  of  another  out- 
burst. 

"  They  're  crazy  for  a  run,"  Holden  mur- 
mured caressingly.  "  We  '11  have  to  head 
that  procession,"  and  he  nodded  toward  the 
group  stringing  through  the  gate. 

"  That  is  what  I  should  like,"  said  Flor- 
ence. 

"  Then  we  '11  put  them  clean  out  of  sight," 
he  answered. 

They  passed  the  foremost  riders  as  these 
were  swinging  into  the  coast  road,  and  for  a 
few  moments  Florence  saw  oaks  and  ocean 


LONGACRE   RUNS   AFTER 

as  a  blur  of  olive-green  pierced  with  flashes 
of  bright  blue. 

"  Too  fast  *? "  Holden  inquired,  his  eyes  on 
the  horses'  ears. 

"  It  could  n't  be ! "  she  answered  with  ex- 
citement. 

The  rapid  motion  was  what  her  mood 
needed  to  fire  it.  It  lit  a  spark  in  her  cold, 
lethargic  determination.  She  was  possessed 
with  that  feeling  of  triumph  speed  creates  — 
a  physical  elation,  a  surety  that  nothing  in 
life  could  stand  still  again.  A  faint  color 
grew  in  her  cheeks.  Her  eyes  had  a  fire  that 
seldom  burned  in  their  somber  pupils;  a 
color  and  a  fire  that  Holden  marked  in  his 
greater  leisure,  with  the  slackened  speed  of 
the  horses  rising  the  steep  hill. 

"  You  look  so  lit  up,"  he  told  her,  half 
wonderingly. 

"  It  's  the  driving,"  she  explained,  "  or 
rather  flying.  We  hardly  seemed  to  touch 
earth." 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Just  driving !  "  He  was  amused,  "  Well, 
I  like  it.  It  's  my  play.  It  's  famous  to 
have  a  strong,  lively  pair  of  brutes  under 
your  hand  to  hurry  or  pull  up  as  you  like." 

Florence  looked  as  though  that  pleasure 
were  quite  within  her  comprehension. 

"  But,"  he  added,  with  another  look  at  her 
glowing  face,  "it  would  take  the  biggest 
deal  in  the  country  to  make  me  feel  within 
twenty  miles  of  the  way  you  look." 

"  Oh,  do  I  look  all  that?  "  She  seemed  so 
to  comprehend !  He  warmed  under  the 
kindness  of  her  fancy. 

"You  know  I  want  above  all  things  to 
please  you,"  he  began. 

"  Are  n't  we  friends  enough  not  to  have  to 
please  each  other4?"  she  quickly  interposed. 
She  wanted  so  to  keep  him  off  that  danger- 
ous ground. 

"You    people    have    such    a   way   with 
words ! "  he  protested,  with  a  head-shake  as 
large  and  impatient  as  a  bull's. 
66 


LONGACRE  RUNS   AFTER 

"  We  people  ?  "  she  demanded  with  gay 
asperity. 

"  Oh,  all  that  crowd ! "  He  jerked  his  head 
backward,  in  the  direction  of  the  party  fol- 
lowing. 

"And  you  insist  on  classing  me?"  she 
persisted. 

"  You  know,"  he  replied  obstinately,  "  as 
far  as  I  'm  concerned,  you  're  in  a  class  by 
yourself.  I  've  told  you  all  about  that  be- 
fore." As  they  began  the  descent  his  hands 
tightened  on  the  reins. 

She  looked  seaward  over  the  low  live- 
oaks. 

"  You  can't  for  a  moment  suppose,"  he 
went  on,  "  that  I  class  you  with  them.  You 
know  their  sort.  You  know  how  to  meet 
them ;  but  I  believe  at  bottom  you  're  more 
like  me." 

"That  may  be,  too,"  she  said  gently; 
«but—" 

"  Do  you  know,  that  's  the  way  you  al- 

67 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

ways  answer  me ! "  he  struck  in.  "  You  won't 
put  a  definite  period  to  a  sentence." 

"Because  you  won't  let  me  come  to  the 
end  of  it,"  she  said  quickly.  She  wanted  to 
avert  the  last  appeal.  She  wished  to  have  all 
clear  between  them,  but  instinctively  she 
dreaded  the  finality.  "  The  difficulty  is  that 
I  'm  not  enough  like  you ;  and  we  two  are 
mature;  we  won't  change;  we  can't  adjust 
ourselves  as  younger  people  can." 

"  I  ought  to  know  by  this  time  how 
much  or  how  little  alike  we  are,"  he  deter- 
mined. 

"  Is  it  such  a  long  time?  "  she  doubted. 

"  Six  months." 

"  Yes,  but  what  did  the  months  in  New 
York  amount  to  *?  A  porridge  of  things  and 
people  !  Did  we  have  time  to  breathe  *?  We 
simply  rushed  from  place  to  place,  throwing 
at  each  other  the  last  opinion  on  the  latest 
thing." 

"  I  knew  what  I  wanted  then,"  he  retorted. 
68 


LONGACRE   RUNS  AFTER 

"  But  you  did  n't  know  me" 

"Don't  you  think  I  know  the  sort  you 
are?"  he  demanded. 

"  Not  quite."  And,  as  he  repudiated  her 
words  with  his  large  head-shake,  she  added, 
"  At  least,  if  you  will  take  the  consequences 
of  cornering  me,  I  'm  not  at  all  sure  I  know 
whatjy0&  are  like." 

He  seemed  to  consider  this  more  natural. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  all  you  want  to  know  in  that 
quarter,  and  tell  you  straight."  He  pinned 
her  with  his  direct  look. 

She  tried  to  retrieve  his  misconception  of 
her  meaning. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  you  can't.  You  would 
have  to  show  me." 

They  whirled  under  the  cypresses  at  the 
entrance  to  the  golf-links.  The  club-house, 
so  low,  and  so  widely  roofed  with  tiles  that 
it  appeared  to  crouch  under  a  red  umbrella, 
gave  them  just  the  glimmer  of  the  upper  row 
of  its  windows  over  the  hill-crest 

69 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  And  how  long  a  time  will  it  take  to  show 
you  ?  "  said  Holden. 

It  came  to  her  how  unescapable  he  was ; 
what  significance  had  his  direct  mind  read 
into  her  Teplies  *?  She  was  grave,  with  a  cer- 
tain distress  and  indecision  in  her  face. 

"  I  can't  tell.  I  mean  you  must  not  ask  me 
to  —  you  must  not  expect  —  I  cannot  —  " 

But  he  would  not  have  it. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  time  's  what  you  want ! " 

"Do  you  go  at  your  deals  as  hard  as 
this  ?  "  she  smiled. 

"Worse  than  this,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"  There  's  no  consideration  there  —  much 
worse." 

"  Worse ! "  cried  Cissy  Fitz  Hugh,  catch- 
ing the  word  as  she  and  Longacre,  foremost 
of  the  riders,  came  abreast  the  runabout. 

"Golf — worse   than   railroad  deals,"  re- 
plied  Florence  so  quickly  that  Longacre, 
who  had  had  time  to  note  Holden's  annoy- 
ance, gave  her  a  long  consideration. 
70 


LONGACRE   RUNS  AFTER 

"  But  you  don't  stay  out  of  a  game  because 
it  's  hard,  Holden,"  he  said.  "Suppose  we 
make  a  foursome." 

Florence  felt  a  quickened  heart  —  a  thrill 
that  was  more  than  excitement,  too  keen  for 
joy.  Had  he  looked  at  Holden  as  at  a  rival? 
Was  he  trying,  this  negligent  Longacre,  to 
arrange  to  speak  with  her,  to  be  near  her? 
Did  he  miss  her  so  much?  He  must  miss 
her  more. 

He  handed  her  out  at  the  club  veranda, 
both  her  hands  in  his,  and  she  could  not  help 
giving  him  one  of  her  old  looks.  It  got 
away  from  her.  She  saw  him  flush  under  it. 
It  went  to  his  head. 

She  kept  close  to  Holden.  She  walked 
out  to  the  tee  with  him,  as  inconsequently 
happy,  and,  she  told  herself,  as  silly,  as  a 
girl.  She  knew  that  Longacre  had  builded 
on  his  knowledge  that,  while  he  and  she 
played  a  fairly  fast  game,  Cissy  was  a  notably 
wild  shot  and  Holden  a  duffer.  But  Flor- 

71 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

ence  chose  to  assume  Holden  to  be  her 
partner,  again  relegating  Cissy  to  Longacre ; 
and  she  waived  to  Cissy  the  right  of  the  first 
drive,  which,  though  wild,  covered  a  long 
space  in  a  forward  direction.  Longacre's 
face,  flushed,  quivering  with  irritation,  his 
drive  off — a  smashing  crack  that  sent  the 
ball  a  spinning  streak  —  were  with  her  mem- 
ory over  all  the  course,  but  she  managed  her 
game  to  keep  just  from  blocking  Holden's, 
seeing  Longacre  well  away  at  the  second 
green  as  the  greater  party  came  out  to  the 
tee. 

Diligently  coaching  Holden,  she  managed 
to  keep  far  enough  ahead  of  all  but  one,  the 
most  hardy,  the  most  headlong  player  on  the 
links.  Florence  felt  pursued  and  hurried  on 
by  that  ringing  voice,  detaching  itself  in  her 
ears  from  all  other  sounds  and  voices. 
"  Fore ! "  it  rang  out,  vibrant,  musical,  across 
the  brown  downs. 

Looking  back  from  her  advance  to  where 

72 


LONGACRE   RUNS   AFTER 

the  play  was  more  congested,  she  could  see 
the  tall  figure  whose  vigor  and  presence 
seemed  to  dominate  the  links.  Florence  felt 
herself  sunk  in  the  background  of  Julia 
Budd's  identity.  The  girl's  strokes  had 
rhythm ;  the  movements  of  her  body,  har- 
mony. Her  voice,  that  was  more  a  call  than 
a  shout,  had  the  sound  of  half-savage  music. 
Beside  her  the  others  seemed  triflers.  She 
was  splendid  in  her  intensity  for  the  thing  in 
hand,  the  play  —  the  long  swing,  the  flying 
ball,  the  quick  pursuit.  Florence  could  feel 
her  waiting  at  their  backs,  impatient  of  de- 
lay, her  warning  "  Fore  !  "  urging  them  for- 
ward. 

With  this  potent  personality  pressing  her 
hard,  Florence  went  slowly,  warily.  Her 
eye  measured  the  distance  as  she  increased 
or  decreased  it  between  herself  and  Long- 
acre.  Her  nerves  were  tight,  but  the  exercise 
fostered  what  color  the  drive  had  lent  her; 
and  her  sense  of  beginning  to  handle  circum- 

73 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

stances,  that  she  had  feared  were  slipping 
past  her,  gave  her  an  appearance  of  serenity. 

It  was  this  manner  of  delicate  calm,  con- 
sidered with  her  bright  eyes  and  hot  cheeks, 
that,  when  she  joined  the  party  at  luncheon, 
instantly  got  Longacre's  attention  and  kept 
him  distracted.  She  guessed  he  was  trying 
to  explain  her  mood  to  himself,  without  suc- 
cess. She  determined  to  give  him  no  oppor- 
tunity for  discoveries  until  the  hour  of  her 
choosing. 

She  quizzed  Thair  across  the  luncheon- 
table  with  the  early  invitation  to  try  his  au- 
tomobile he  had  extended  her,  and  had  not 
made  good. 

"  I  '11  take  you  up  on  that,"  he  threatened, 
"if  you  '11  honor  the  4red  devil'  as  far  as 
'  Del  Monte '  to-night." 

"  To  the  dance  ?  Must  we  be  so  precipi- 
tate ?  "  she  asked. 

He  insisted. 

Cissy   Fitz   Hugh  looked   sharply   from 

74 


LONGACRE   RUNS   AFTER 

Thair  to  Florence,  from  Florence  to  Long- 
acre.  After  luncheon,  while  the  horses  were 
being  brought  around,  she  cornered  her  cou- 
sin. Florence  saw  Thair  amused,  protesting, 
—  Cissy  positive,  insisting.  She  must  have 
extracted  a  promise.  She  turned  away  with 
the  smile  of  a  kitten  over  cream. 

That  look,  and  the  idea  it  suggested,  of 
what  Cissy  had  been  after,  gave  Florence  a 
sudden  disgust  of  the  whole  thing  —  Cissy, 
her  manceuver ;  herself,  her  own  manceuvers ; 
every  one ;  all  scuffling  after  what  they 
wanted,  seeing  no  further  than  the  next  min- 
ute. Unprofitable  !  She  would  not  think. 

She  drove  back  to  "Miramar,"  as  she  had 
come,  with  Holden.  She  went  immediately 
to  her  room.  To  sleep  was  impossible,  and 
she  would  not  —  no,  could  not  —  think.  She 
walked  about  the  room,  picked  up  and  moved 
about  little  articles  on  the  writing-desk,  the 
chiffonnier.  She  watched  from  her  window 
the  line  of  surf  that  incessantly  built  and 

75 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

broke  itself  along  the  glittering  coast.  The 
fingers  that  drummed  the  pane  trembled. 

She  heard  voices  passing  under  her  win* 
dow  as  the  tennis-players  and  bathers  followed 
the  afternoon  home  for  tea  on  the  veranda, 
since  the  evening  was  clear.  She  did  not  go 
down.  She  stood  at  the  window,  watching 
the  violet  shadows  drawing  fold  over  fold  of 
deepening  color  across  the  ocean's  floor.  She 
had  lost  herself  to  such  finite  things  as  time. 
When  she  came  back  to  it  with  a  start,  she 
was  dismayed  to  see  only  half  an  hour  left 
for  dressing. 

But  she  dressed  with  consideration,  with 
anxiety.  For  full  five  minutes  after  the  maid 
had  fastened  the  last  hook  and  pinned  the  last 
flower,  she  revolved  before  the  mirror,  study- 
ing the  coils  of  dark  hair  that  wrapped  her 
head,  and  the  lines  of  the  lace  gown  that  sloped 
along  her  shoulders  and  rippled,  with  broken 
glitters  of  cut  steel,  to  the  floor.  When  she 
turned  from  the  glass  she  was  smiling. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    PURSUER    IS    CAPTURED 

SIE  was  late  to  a  late  dinner.      She 
found  herself  last,  but  felt  herself 
more  looked  at  than  mere  lateness 
warranted.      Some  of  the  women 
looked  first  at  her,  and  then  at  each  other. 

Among  the  glances  given  she  noted  but 
two  —  Longacre's  and  Julia  Budd's ;  though 
theirs  were  the  eyes  least  evidently  on  her. 

The  girl  was  in  great  spirits,  rather  readier 
with  her  rich  laugh  than  usual.  Florence 
was  almost  betrayed  into  a  straight  stare  of 
admiration,  of  wonder,  at  all  she  meant — the 
arrogance  of  youth  in  great  beauty  that  re- 
pudiated the  need  of  enhancement,  either 
from  the  rosy  cloud  of  chiffon  in  which  she 

77 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

had  clothed  herself,  or  the  mind,  hardly 
awake,  under  the  splendid  aura  of  her  hair. 
How  she  was  sailing  on  the  surface  of  life ! 
But  it  occurred  to  Florence  that  when  she 
should  plunge  into  its  depths  — ! 

Longacre  leaned  across  the  table  with  a 
question  to  Florence,  and  she  fancied  that 
Julia  listened  to  it.  Her  eyes  and  ears  were 
unwontedly  keen  and  sensitive  for  tones  and 
expressions.  The  atmosphere  was  charged 
with  diverse  elements.  The  sense  of  cross- 
purposes  around  the  table  was  as  vivid  to  her 
mind  as,  to  her  eyes,  the  general  disintegra- 
tion upon  the  rising,  and  the  confused  crys- 
tallizations of  people. 

Cissy  Fitz  Hugh  was  already  complai- 
santly  established  in  the  back  seat  of  Thair's 
automobile  when  Florence  came  out  on  the 
veranda.  Groups  of  men  and  women  stood 
irresolutely  about,  as  if  uncertain  what  dispo- 
sition fate  was  about  to  make  of  them.  Julia, 
thrusting  on  a  half-coat  of  lace,  came  rushing 

78 


THE   PURSUER   IS   CAPTURED 

through  the  hall  with  her  air  of  knowing  ex- 
actly where  she  was  going. 

"Why,  pettie!"  Her  mother  detained 
her  by  one  sleeve.  "  You  must  put  on  a 
thicker  wrap  if  you  are  going  in  an  open 
vehicle ! " 

"  But  I  'm  not,"  said  Julia,  with  a  gleam. 
"  I  'm  going  in  the  carryall." 

Mrs.  Budd's  helpless  "  Oh ! "  was  clearly 
audible. 

At  this,  Cissy,  whose  mind  had  evidently 
contained  one  doubt  as  to  who  would  be  the 
other  occupant  of  the  back  seat,  looked  con- 
tentedly at  Longacre  handing  Julia  into  her 
chosen  conveyance.  He  held  open  the  door 
on  the  last  glimmer  of  her  slippers  —  then 
followed  her  into  the  carryall.  Cissy's  rapid 
change  of  expression  amounted  to  a  grimace. 
She  shot  Florence  a  look  of  incredulity, 
craned  hastily  around  at  the  carryall  windows, 
started  to  speak;  then  she  stared  rather  blankly 
at  the  blooming  Bess  who  swung  into  the  seat 

79 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

beside  her  with  the  confidence  of  belonging 
nowhere  else. 

Florence  looked  at  Thair,  and  he  gave  her 
almost  a  grin. 

"  Place  aux  dames ! "  he  lilted  as  the  "  red 
devil "  slid  past  the  carryall. 

They  headed  the  procession  down  the 
steep  drive,  the  sea  wind  in  their  faces,  plung- 
ing through  black  and  white  shadows  of 
moonlight  and  oaks,  catching  the  flicker  of 
the  Monterey  lights,  finally  rolling  through 
the  Del  Monte  gates  with  the  electric  stars 
overhead  drawing  huge,  sprawling  silhouettes 
of  banana  and  palm  on  the  drive  in  front, 
and  a  string-orchestra  sounding  somewhere 
beyond  the  open  French  windows. 

Florence  had  never  felt  more  alone  in  her 
life  than  on  that  swarming  hotel  veranda. 
She  saw  Cissy  Fitz  Hugh  with  a  hand  out 
to  a  dozen  the  minute  she  was  out  of  the  au- 
tomobile—  full-necked,  close-cropped  men; 
liquid-eyed  women  with  cheeks  like  peaches 
80 


and  voices  like  ringing  glass;  how  Cissy 
seemed  to  belong  among  them,  to  be  one  of 
them  with  an  identity  eloquent  of  a  dozen 
summers  of  common  pursuits,  gossips,  and 
scandals. 

Florence's  steel  and  lace  sheared  through 
their  softer  fabrics  like  a  blade  through  flowers. 

The  great  rooms  were  filled,  jammed.  To 
the  hotel  inmates  had  been  added  by  degrees 
the  parties  from  the  cottages  along  the  shore. 
The  assemblage  showed  its  "  mixedness  "  by 
the  sharp  lines  of  its  cliques,  made  up  like  a 
Chinese  toy  —  ring  within  ring;  the  outer, 
whoever  could  manage  a  night  at  the  hotel 
for  the  sake  of  a  show ;  the  inner,  by  their 
sharper  individuality  of  manner  and  gown 
and  their  air  of  belonging  exactly  where  they 
happened  to  be,  undoubtedly  the  show,  and 
supremely  regardless  of  it. 

Of  them,  a  woman  in  heliotrope,  with  pas- 
sementerie dragons  running  up  her  arms, 
waved  to  Florence,  and  drew  her  into  her 
6  8l 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

shouting  group,  crying,  "  You  here ! "  and 
"  Who  next  where ! " 

"  And  where,"  she  wanted  to  know  at  the 
top  of  her  voice,  "  is  the  sweet  musician  — 
the  American  with  the  short  hair,  who  was 
at  your  elbow  in  London  *?  " 

"  In  much  the  same  position,"  came  Long- 
acre's  soft  drawl  over  Florence's  shoulder. 

"  The  dear  impertinence,"  the  lady-drag- 
oness  appealed,  "of  taking  that  description 
to  yourself! " 

"  Oh,  it  was  too  perfect,"  he  insisted.  "  The 
American  with  the  short  hair ! " 

"  And  the  sweet  musician ! "  Florence 
teased.  A  note  in  her  voice  took  him  back 
to  Vienna  and  their  fresher  days.  He  looked 
at  her.  She  seemed  a  reawakened  memory 
—  flushed  cheeks,  and  a  stinging  light  in 
her  eyes. 

"Oh,  the  sweet  musician"  —  Longacre 
was  very  easy  about  him  —  "  is  pigeonholed 
in  New  York." 

82 


THE   PURSUER   IS   CAPTURED 

"  What,  that  dear  thing  you  were  playing 
us  catches  of  last  spring  ?  "  The  dragoness 
was  all  vociferous  sympathy,  but  through  it 
he  remained  aware  of  Florence  Essington's 
pure  profile  averted  from  him,  looking  across 
the  room  toward  a  gorgeous,  rose-like  Julia, 
blooming,  the  center  of  a  circle  of  black 
coats. 

But  for  Longacre,  at  that  moment,  the 
other  side  of  the  room  might  well  have  been 
the  other  side  of  the  world.  As  the  orches- 
tra slid  into  a  waltz  of  Strauss,  and  the  lady 
of  dragons  was  drawn  away  into  the  measure, 
he  laid  an  eager  hand  on  Florence's  arm,  with 
an  "  Oh,  I  say,  dance  this  with  me!  "  hard  to 
be  denied. 

But  she  nodded  across  the  room  toward 
Thair  approaching  with  long  stride  and  con- 
fident smile.  "  It  is  promised,  but  —  " 

"  Well,"  he  frowned,  "  the  next,  then." 

"  Well  —  "  she  acceded. 

"  And  the  next." 

83 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

As  she  hesitated  he  muttered,  "Do  you 
know  what  I  want  *? "  He  leaned  nearer. 
"  I  want  the  whole  evening,  as  we  used  — 
all  of 'em!" 

"Oh,  only  that!"  she  fairly  laughed  at 
him. 

"  This  is  n't  Vienna,"  she  said  as  she  turned 
away  with  Thair,  but  her  negation  sounded 
like  a  promise.  She  left  him  —  Longacre, 
who  habitually  loafed  out  a  ball, — with  a  de- 
sire to  dance  —  to  dance  wildly,  madly,  with 
any  one ! 

Safely  and  slowly  steered  around  the  room 
in  Thair's  practised  arm,  Florence  saw  him 
whirling  recklessly  through  the  crowd,  dan- 
cing double  time  in  fine  Viennese  fashion, 
twice  as  fast  as  the  rhythmic  swing  of  the 
room,  with  Julia  Budd  a  half-alarmed,  half- 
angry,  wholly  excited  partner.  She  seemed 
holding  back,  objecting;  he  was  urging  her 
on,  domineering.  He  swept  her  along 
against  her  will. 

84 


THE   PURSUER   IS   CAPTURED 

"  Oh,  no,  no ;  you  don't  want  to  stop !  " 
Florence  heard  him  laugh  as  he  dashed  past. 
And,  catching  glimpses  of  Julia's  face  as  she 
was  whirled  along,  Florence  thought  it  strug- 
gled with  a  desire,  and  an  inability,  to  be 
angry ;  a  confused  pleasure  in  a  will  stronger 
than  her  own. 

Mrs.  Budd  was  making  covert  attempts  to 
attract  her  daughter's  attention.  Her  ex- 
pression said  that  Longacre  was  proving  him- 
self all  and  more  than  "queer"  included. 
"  Conspicuousness "  was  her  abomination, 
and  there  was  no  doubt  that  Fox  Longacre 
was  making  Julia  conspicuous. 

To  Florence  it  was  equally  plain  that  he 
did  not  know  it.  The  situation  opened  be- 
fore her  like  a  tableau,  the  climax  of  the 
play.  She  saw  Fox  and  Julia  in  their  ex- 
cited gyration,  not  as  she  had  seen  them  that 
morning  in  the  garden,  but  in  discord,  in 
different  planets  of  feeling,  the  girl  supremely 
agitated,  Longacre  elated.  What  was  the 

85 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

origin  of  that  elation?  Florence  asked  her- 
self. A  look  of  hers  —  a  waft  of  memory  ! 
If  she  missed  the  significance  of  the  girl's 
face,  the  danger  it  threatened,  it  was  that  she 
lost  it  in  the  tumult  of  her  own  feeling. 

A  word,  and  she  would  have  been  whirl- 
ing in  Julia's  place.  Still  looking  at  Julia, 
she  blamed  herself  for  holding  him  off  so 
long.  The  girl's  mere  proximity  was  peril. 
That  was  enough  to  keep  any  man  beside 
her  all  the  evening.  She  had  more  than 
beauty.  She  was  magnetic.  She  sunk  the 
women  around  her  to  nonentities. 

Florence  watched  Longacre  shouldering 
Julia  a  passage  through  the  press  in  the  di- 
rection of  Mrs.  Budd's  disapproval.  He 
stood  a  moment  talking  with  the  mother  and 
daughter;  and  as  the  girl  turned  her  long 
throat,  and  bent  her  black  brows  upon  him, 
the  woman  thought,  "  Of  course  he  will  stay. 
At  least  he  will  stay  out  the  interval."  He 
seemed  to  hesitate,  but  turned  presently  and 
86 


THE   PURSUER   IS   CAPTURED 

walked  on  to  another  group,  said  a  word 
there,  started  across  the  room. 

Unconsciously  Florence  straightened  her- 
self. What  irrelevant  thing  she  said  to  Thair 
she  did  n't  know.  She  heard  him  laugh. 
She  was  thinking : 

"  It  is  only  the  beginning.  I  don't 
know — " 

She  answered  Thair,  but  all  the  while  was 
watching  Longacre  coming  across  the  floor, 
with  a  word  here  and  there,  and  bright,  ab- 
sent eyes.  His  look  found  concentration  as 
he  paused  in  front  of  her.  His  eyes  were 
more  eager  than  she  had  seen  them  for  longer 
than  she  cared  to  remember.  He  was  less 
at  ease,  too.  His  looks  at  Thair  were  hints. 
When  the  returning  violins  urged  that  gen- 
tleman in  the  direction  of  his  hostess  and  his 
hostess's  daughter,  Longacre,  as  if  at  last  re- 
leased, burst  out : 

"Now  let  's  get  out  of  this  before  any 
more  come  along ! " 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Any  more  ?  "  She  was  composed  about 
it. 

"  That  two  hundred  pounds  of  commer- 
cialism looking  in  this  direction."  He  indi- 
cated Holden  with  a  sliding  eye. 

"Why,  Tony,  what  has  happened  to 
you?" 

"Don't  you  know*?"  He  was  smiling, 
but  well  in  earnest.  "  I  have  n't  said  a  word 
to  you,"  he  pronounced  impressively,  "for 
twenty-four  hours." 

"  But  why  ?  "  She  seemed  to  challenge 
him  with :  "  Whose  fault  is  that  ?  " 

"  Because  you  dodged,"  he  replied  coolly. 
"  And  unless  I  look  out,  you  '11  do  it  again." 

"And  your  suggestion  is  that  we  dodge 
together  ?  " 

He  rose,  and  stood  in  front  of  her  while 
Holden  passed  slowly  in  the  crowd,  turning 
his  penetrating  eye  from  side  to  side,  but 
missing  them  completely. 

"  Florence,"  he  said,  "  thaw  me  out.     I  'm 


THE   PURSUER   IS   CAPTURED 

frozen  stiff.  Come,  I  'm  stale  with  self- 
communications." 

He  thrust  his  arm  through  hers  as  he  drew 
her  around  the  skirts  of  the  crowd.  She  felt 
its  urge  with  a  heightened  pulse. 

"  Is  n't  this  rather  conspicuously  incon- 
spicuous *?  "  she  wanted  to  know  as  he  seated 
her  behind  a  palm  in  the  crook  of  a  side 
stair. 

"  Quite  within  the  limits,"  he  assured  her. 
"  Or  do  you  want  to  be  interrupted  ?  " 

"  Tony,  you  're  almost  formal ! " 

"You  make  me  feel  so.  You  're  a 
stranger." 

Upon  this,  the  curve  of  her  smile  was  al- 
most childlike. 

"Why,"  he  laughed,  surprised,  "you  're 
younger  than  I ! " 

The  glittering  butterfly  in  her  hair  trem- 
bled with  her  laughter. 

"  Delicious  ! "  she  cried. 

"  I    suppose    that  's  the   youngest  thing 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

that  's  been  said  to-night,"  he  admitted,  rue- 
ful as  a  boy,  but  wholly  amused.  He  looked 
up  at  her,  and  again  he  seemed  to  see  her 
anew,  alight  with  an  intensity  that  flashed  in 
her  large  eyes,  that  seemed  reflected  in  the 
glitter  of  her  slow-waving  black  fan. 

"  You  are  the  oldest,  youngest  ever  born," 
she  said,  with  a  gentle  caress  of  voice  that 
caused  his  smile  to  fade  and  held  his  eyes 
steady. 

"  What  a  way  you  have  with  words ! "  he 
said.  "  You  make  them  really  mean  things. 
You  get  hold  of  one  — " 

"  With  words,"  she  helped  him. 

"  Oh,  no,  no ;  not  only  that !  But  the  "way 
you  do  it,"  he  said,  with  his  oldest  look  on 
his  young  face.  "  You  get  nearer  with  them. 
Most  only  get  away." 

He  alarmed  her  and  reassured  her  in  a 
breath.  "  Words  *?  "  she  thought,  remember- 
ing Julia's  eyes.  Yes,  words  were  her  wea- 
pons, and  that  which  was  back  of  them  :  the 
90 


THE   PURSUER   IS   CAPTURED 

power  of  mentality.  But  how  much  did  that 
count  for  now  ? 

"  You  don't  like  people,  Tony,"  she  told 
him. 

He  nodded.  "  I  know.  They  're  such 
everlasting  discords.  They  deafen  me.  I 
suppose  it  's  infernally  selfish,  but  I  can't 
think  of  you  as  an  individual,  Florence. 
You  're  just  myself." 

They  were  too  intent  now,  both  of  them, 
for  a  change  of  color. 

"  You  know,  eve"r  since  we  came  here,"  he 
went  on,  his  long  fingers  running  through 
and  through  the  steel  fringes  in  her  lap, 
"  I  Ve  had  the  oddest  sensation  of  losing  my- 
self—  of  seeing  myself  escape.  Oh,  it  's 
been  wretched  ! "  He  shook  his  head. 

She  paled  a  little.  The  meaning  under 
his  words  —  a  meaning  of  which  he  was  un- 
conscious—  pierced  her. 

"  Did  you,  really  *?  "  he  asked  her. 

"  Did  I  ?  "    Her  voice  trembled. 

91 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Try  to  get  away  from  me  ?  " 

Oh,  to  have  been  sure  she  had  been  the 
reason  of  his  wretchedness  ! 

"  Are  you  accusing  me  of  taking  back  a 
gift,  Tony?" 

The  look  he  gave  her  swallowed  her  fears, 
and  the  flippancies  they  engendered. 

"  Florence,"  he  said,  "  you  've  been  always 
giving  to  me.  You  never  think  of  getting. 
You  won't  even  take  what  belongs  to  you 
—  myself,  the  opera,  and  whatever  I  may  do 
or  be." 

"But,  Tony,  years  ago  you  gave  me  all 
that." 

"  I  offered  it,  and  you  refused  it  —  on  my 
account,  you  said  !  What  a  reason ! "  He  re- 
pudiated it  with  a  fierce  head-shake.  "  When 
you  are  giving  your  brain,  your  strength, 
your  life,  why  won't  you  take  that  much 
from  me  ?  " 

"  Suppose  I  should  ?  "  She  looked  at  him 
as  if  she  half  feared  a  recoil  of  his  eagerness  ; 

92 


jsmg  me  c>  ick  ;i 

h?  gave  her  swallowed  her  tears, 
fancies  they  engendered. 
*,"  he  said,  *'  you  've  been  always 
ae.  You  never  think  of  getting, 
even  take  what  belongs  to  you 
he  opera,  and  whatever  I  may  do 

wiy,  years  ago  you  gave  me  all 

1  it,  and  you  refused  it  —  on  my 
\  said  !  What  a  reason ! "  He  re- 
yith  a  fierce  head-shake.  "  When 
ving  your  brain,  your  strength, 
hy  won't  you  '  Much 


'Oh,  it's  been  wretched!'" 


THE   PURSUER   IS   CAPTURED 

but  the  blood,  mounting  to  his  face,  only 
gave  him  a  more  headlong  impetuousness. 
His  answer  was  as  direct  as  Holden  could 
have  made :  "  Is  that  yes  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  faltered,  her  eyes  full 
upon  him. 

"  Good  Lord ! "  —  his  voice  was  thick  — 
"  then  there  need  be  no  end  to  anything !  " 
He  stooped  with  that  incalculable  impulse 
of  his.  She  swayed  away  from  him.  Her 
black  fan  seemed  to  brush  him  back. 

"  'Sh  ! "  her  warning  hand  was  on  his. 

Tall,  slightly  stooping,  Charlie  Thair  stood 
between  the  potted  palms,  blinking  at  them 
out  of  his  narrow  eyes.  One  could  not  know 
how  much  they  had  seen.  They  seemed  to 
have  seen  simply  nothing. 

"  I  have,"  he  murmured,  "  constituted  my- 
self a  relief  expedition.  You  did  very  well," 
he  said  to  Longacre.  "  I  have  spent  three 
quarters  of  a  waltz  hunting." 

"  I   did   the   best    I    could."     Longacre's 

93 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

cheerful  impudence  covered  the  situation. 
"  You  ought  to  give  up  sooner,  old  man." 

Florence  felt  half  shocked,  half  relieved,  to 
hear  them  talking  thus,  as  they  would  have 
talked  if  there  had  been  no  situation.  But 
she  left  the  responsibility  with  Longacre. 
She  nodded  casually  enough  to  him  as  she 
went  away  with  Thair.  But,  for  all  her  light- 
ness, she  could  not  conceal  the  evidences  of 
what  had  happened  to  her.  She  dared  not 
give  her  eyes  all  the  light  they  knew,  and 
still  Thair  wondered  at  their  brightness.  She 
could  not  keep  the  caress  out  of  her  voice. 
Her  laugh  lay  too  near  her  lips.  Her  breast 
heaved  too  high.  She  saw  that  Thair  noticed 
it,  but  she  felt  it  no  longer  mattered. 
Whom  she  danced  with,  what  she  said,  she 
hardly  knew.  "Is  that  yes?"  she  heard 
Longacre  saying,  and  then  her  answer :  "  Why 
not?" 

Why  not  ?  Had  she  thought  herself  old? 
Her  pulse  was  a  girl's,  her  color  inconstant, 

94 


THE   PURSUER   IS   CAPTURED 

her  heart  quick  and  irregular.  She  saw  him 
across  the  crowd  —  a  look.  It  was  like  a 
hand  laid  in  her  own.  Was  she  beginning  - 
to  live  over  again  ?  Had  he,  for  what  she 
had  given  him,  repaid  her  with  youth  ?  She 
was  splendid  in  the  flower  of  her  mood. 

She  saw  Julia  Budd  amid  the  crowd,  dis- 
tinct from  it,  yet  somehow  less  vital  —  a 
colorful,  restless-eyed  ghost.  Among  the  dis- 
persing dancers  —  with  the  carriages  at  the 
door,  and  the  morning  faint  yellow  through 
the  banana  leaves  —  Julia  passed  her  with 
the  others,  a  dimly  disturbing  spirit.  There 
was  something  searching,  seeking,  baffled 
in  the  look  she  gave  Longacre  as  he  helped 
her  into  the  carryall.  He  was  so  vital,  so 
alive,  that  he  seemed  to  have  taken  from 
Julia  some  of  her  gorgeous  magnetism. 
But  Florence  knew  it  was  from  another 
source  the  vitality  had  sprung.  She  was 
flushed  and  warm  and  sparkling  with  the 
thought  of  it.  It  kept  her  brilliant  through^ 

95 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

the  long  ride  back  in  the  cold  sea  wind  toward 
the  cold  saffron  east.  She  was  a  whirl  of 
feeling.  She  rushed  along  with  her  sensations 
as  if  she  dared  not  think.  The  spin  of  the 
automobile  helped  her. 

But  when  the  rapid  motion  in  the  sharp 
half-light  had  changed  for  the  long  upward 
house-stair ;  when  Longacre's  good  night  was 
but  the  memory  of  a  hand-clasp  around  her 
fingers, —  then  she  hurried  to  escape  what 
was  crowding  on  her  elation.  She  shut  the 
door  of  her  room.  She  locked  it ;  but  the 
shadow  that  threatened  had  been  too  quick 
for  her.  The  four  walls  closed  it  in.  She 
turned  up  all  the  lights  in  the  room.  In 
their  glare  the  shadow  was  fainter.  She 
drew  the  curtains  over  the  windows.  She 
shut  herself  away  from  the  growing  light. 
She  saw  an  image  in  her  glass,  a  woman  who 
loved,  and  was  loved  again,  bright-eyed, 
hectic.  The  room  was  too  small  to  hold 
her.  The  walls  weighed  down  upon  her.r 

96 


THE   PURSUER   IS   CAPTURED 

Her  heart  was  too  small  to  hold  her  happi- 
ness. Was  it  for  that  reason  it  ached,  that 
it  lay  lead  in  her  breast  ?  And  the  fullness 
in  her  throat  —  tears  of  joy?  It  was  very 
near  to  anguish. 

She  tried  to  recall  Longacre's  face  when 
he  questioned,  "  Is  that  yes  ?  "  But  she  only 
saw  the  confused  distraction  with  which  he 
had  answered  Julia's  seeking  look.  She 
knew  he  belonged  to  her  as  never  before. 
But  she  felt  guilty,  uneasy,  criminal. 

She  was  suffering.  She  pressed  her  hands 
on  her  smarting  eyes,  with  her  old  impulse 
for  reason  crying,  "  Why  ?  "  What  had  she 
done?  Whom  had  she  robbed?  She  had 
only  taken  what  was  hers.  Rather,  it  had 
been  given  freely,  freely,  she  told  herself  in- 
sistently. Surely  they  belonged  to  each 
other,  herself  and  the  man  she  loved.  What 
had  the  other  people  to  do  with  it  ?  Whom 
had  she  wronged? 

She  flung  herself  on  her  bed.     The  tumult 

97 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

of  brain  and  soul  ran  out  in  tears.  Triumph, 
strength,  color,  hope,  were  flowing  from  her ; 
but  the  figures  of  the  dark  spelled  out  words 
before  her  closed,  unsleeping  eyes  —  motives 
that  she  had  obscured,  meanings  that  had 
been  dim. 

Whom  had  she  wronged?  One  figure 
filled  her  inturned  sight.  The  man  she 
loved  stood  there,  accusing  her.  The  wrong 
she  had  done  was  between  the  two  of  them. 
To  him  she  must  answer, 

"  What  had  she  done  ?  "  the  poor  ghost 
seemed  to  ask. 

She  had  made  him.  For  what?  That 
question  stared  at  her  horribly.  "  For  him- 
self," she  tried  to  answer.  It  had  been  true 
in  past  years,  but  now  it  was  inexplicably 
false.  For  herself,  now.  She  would  have 
hidden  from  the  truth,  but  it  was  too  quick 
for  her.  She  lay  still,  seeing  it  all,  flinching, 
but  looking  it  in  the  face. 

She  had  had  much  to  give  him ;  and  she 

98 


THE   PURSUER   IS   CAPTURED 

had  given  it.  She  had  helped  him  over  his 
hard  road  —  a  road  which,  without  her,  he 
might  have  found  too  steep  and  narrow. 
Now  she  had  come  to  the  end. 

How  did  she  know  —  she  broke  in  pas- 
sionately upon  her  reason  —  that  if  he  wanted 
her,  he  no  longer  needed  her?  But  some- 
thing deeper  than  reason,  deeper  than  pas- 
sion, assured  her  of  the  dreary  truth.  The 
very  years  sundered  them,  and  each  succeed- 
ing year  would  widen  the  breach.  She,  in 
her  prime,  in  the  full  power  of  her  faculties 
and  charm  —  ten  years  would  find  her  old, 
years  that  would  leave  him  young.  After  — 
what  was  there  after  that"? 

If  she  could  do  no  more,  if  she  loved  him, 
must  she  let  him  go  ?  That  was  the  bitter- 
est !  To  step  out  of  the  way.  To  make  her- 
self forgotten ! 

When  she  rose  the  east  shone  palely  bright 
through  her  windows.  She  turned  out  the 
sickly  lights,  thrust  back  the  curtains,  and 

99 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

let   the   sharp,    merciless   morning   fill    the 
room. 

Seeing  her  reflection  in  the  mirror,  she 
seemed  to  face  her  actual  self.  Her  cheeks 
were  white,  the  shadows  under  her  eyes  blu- 
ish; from  nostril  to  mouth  the  lines  were 
long  and  hard.  But  it  was  easier  to  look 
this  self  in  the  face  than  the  other  of  the 
night  before.  Here  there  was  nothing  hid- 
den, no  unknown  horror  at  her  back,  no 
shadow  to  engulf  her.  Everything  was 
clearly  defined.  Now  that  she  was  in  the 
midst  of  the  shadow,  it  was  less  black  than 
gray ;  but  she  wondered  whether  fire  would 
not  have  been  a  relief  from  that  interminably 
dreary  hue  that  infinitely  surrounded  her. 


100 


CHAPTER   VI 

THAIR    PUTS    IN    HIS    FINGER;      CISSY 
HER    FOOT 


lounging  down  to 
breakfast  the  morning  after  the 
dance,  found  Cissy  Fitz  Hugh 
alone  over  a  demoralized  table. 
She  gave  him  a  nod  that  was  cousinly  in  its 
curtness,  shoved  the  muffins  a  little  way 
toward  him,  and  relapsed  into  an  unwonted 
obliviousness.  Reminiscently  smiling,  Thair 
watched  her  a  moment  before  baiting  her 
gently. 

"  My  good  Cicely,  you  're  not  very  fit  this 
morning,"  he  presently  brought  out  with 
family  frankness. 

She  twitched  the  ruffles  of  her  morning- 
101 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

gown,  drew  a  plump  hand  up  the  sweep  of 
her  back  hair,  and  launched  at  him : 

"  Well,  I  'd  like  to  know  who  is  after  last 
night!  Emma  Budd  is  simply  twittering. 
That  great  girl  of  hers  is  more  dreadful  than 
ever !  It  simply  gets  on  my  nerves.  They  're 
all  in  such  a  state  ! " 

"  Except  —  "  he  blinked  at  her. 

"  I  'm  sure  Mrs.  Essington  looks  the  worst 
of  the  lot." 

"  Who  mentioned  Mrs.  Essington  ?  "  His 
eyebrows  were  exclamation-points. 

"  Well,  then  who  are  you  talking  about  ? 
I  do  wish,  Charlie,  you  would  sometimes  say 
what  you  mean  ! " 

"Oh,  why,  so  long  as  7,  at  least,  mean 
what  I  say." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  're  going  to  be  hateful ! 
You  were  horrid  enough  last  night !  "  Cissy 
whined. 

"  It  was  with  the  best  intentions,"  he  as- 
sured her. 

102 


THAIR  .  .  .  AND   CISSY 

"  Of  course !  I  've  noticed  if  any  one  ever 
does  a  thoroughly  stupid  thing,  it 's  always 
with  the  best  intentions  !  And  your  bundling 
that  girl  into  the  back  seat  with  me,  when 
I  'd  asked  you,  and  was  so  counting  on  Mr. 
Longacre  —  when  you  promised  —  " 

"  Oh,  why  not  promise  ?  "  His  tone  was 
gentle  resignation,  a  wicked  consciousness  in 
his  half-shut  eyes. 

"Well,  you  are  a  beast!"  Cissy  gasped. 
It  was  outrageous,  such  outspoken  depravity ! 

"  Oh,  let  me  have  my  finger  in  the  pie,"  he 
pleaded.  "  I  wanted  your  Longacre  some- 
where else.  If  he  must  make  love  to  some 
one,  why  not  to  Julia  *?  It  would  be  so  awfully 
convenient  for  me,  you  know." 

"Well,  he  did  n't!"  said  Cissy,  trium- 
phantly. 

"  No,  he  did  not,"  Thair  admitted  grace- 
fully. "Nor  to  you.  We  all  go  into  the 
same  ditch." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean."  In  their 
103 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

conversations  this  was  the  chronic  state  of 
Cissy's  intelligence.  Thair  smiled  pleasantly. 
But  her  next  move  brought  him  up  roundly. 

"  Who  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Whom  ?  "  He  was  imperturbably  vague 
about  her  personal  application. 

"  Who  did  he  make  love  to"?  " 

On  this,  Thair's  air  of  being  delicately 
shocked  was  maddening. 

"  My  good  Cicely,  how  should  I  know  ? 
If  you  knew,"  he  pursued  with  an  air  of  mam- 
moth secrecy, "  what  I  was  up  to  —  " 

But  his  diplomacy  was  outstripped  by  her 
sharpness. 

"  Well,  I  do  know.  So  far  as  any  one 
could  see,  you  spent  the  evening  hunting 
for  — "  her  flash  of  revelation  snapped  the 
situation  like  a  trap  —  "  Mrs.  Essington ! " 

She  leaned  across  the  table,  flushed,  gaping 
a  little  in  eagerness.    "  Well,  and  you  found 
her !  "  She  threw  it  straight  at  him.   "  Charlie, 
you  do  know  something  !  " 
104 


THAIR  .  ...  AND   CISSY 

"  Flattered,  Cicely ;  properly  flattered." 
His  look  was  over  her  shoulder  toward  the 
windows. 

"  One  good  turn  deserves  another,"  he  said. 
"  Mrs.  Essington  is  now  hunting  for  us." 

Cissy's  startled  turn  gave  her,  through  the 
expanse  of  glass,  the  glimpse  of  a  passing 
profile,  pale  against  a  parasol  of  rose. 

This  fleeting  profile  had  seemed  to  Thair 
rarely  luminous,  lighted  with  a  delicate  life 
of  its  own,  an  atmosphere  excluding  the 
crowd  of  them.  But  when  she  stood  in  the 
door  he  was  startled.  She  was  the  sharpest, 
palest,  unhappiest  substance  of  the  vision. 
That  false  radiance  of  hers  was  furled  in  her 
hand — just  an  arrangement  of  silk  and  sun! 
Poor  dear !  Cissy's  shot  was,  after  all,  nearer 
the  mark.  She  did  look  "the  worst  of  the 
lot." 

Vibrating  through  her  house  with  a  roving 

eye  to  the  agreeable  disposition  of  her  guests 

105 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

tucked  away  among  remote  book-shelves, 
and  in  angles  of  the  veranda,  Mrs.  Budd  had 
more  than  ever  the  air  of  a  great,  impulsive 
girl  suddenly  smitten  with  middle  age,  and 
trying  to  make  the  best  of  it.  She  was 
younger  far  than  Florence  Essington,  younger 
than  Cissy  Fitz  Hugh,  younger  even  than 
her  own  daughter,  whom  she  presently  came 
upon,  teasing  the  dachshunds  on  the  grass- 
plot  beside  the  "glass  room." 

The  girl  was  on  her  knees.  Each  separate 
thread  of  her  gorgeous  bush  of  hair  glisten- 
ing in  the  dazzle  of  the  late  morning  sun, 
her  flushing  cheeks,  her  somber  brows,  her 
hot,  bright  eyes,  were  all  a  part  of  the  ripple 
of  color  and  motion  she  made  in  the  dead, 
warm  greenness.  The  two  long,  wriggling 
dogs  threw  themselves  upon  her  with  yelps 
and  scramblings.  She  tossed  them  back, 
rolled  them  off  their  feet,  tousled  and  worried 
them  with  gurgles  of  joy  and  foolish,  tender 
mutterings. 

106 


THAIR  .  .  .  AND  CISSY 

Her  mother's  shadow,  falling  across  her, 
brought  up  her  eyes  in  a  quick  flash  of  rec- 
ognition. 

"  Oh,  mama,  the  darlings  !  Look  !  The 
angels  !  See  him  snap  !  Do  look  —  now, 
mama  !  Oh,  you  did  n't  look  quick  enough !  " 

Mrs.  Budd's  eyes  absently  took  in  the  en- 
circling shrubbery,  the  walk  to  their  right, 
thinly  veiled  with  straggling  fennel,  and  came 
back  to  her  daughter's  lovely  face  with  a 
sort  of  puzzled  helplessness. 

"  Yes,  pettie,  yes ;  they  're  very  nice.  But 
what  a  way  to  spend  the  morning ! " 

Julia  sat  back  on  her  heels.  Her  great 
brows,  curved  to  a  peak,  spelled  innocent  in- 
terrogation. 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  why  not,  mama  ?  " 

"Well,  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  Mrs. 
Budd  began  with  a  gush,  trailing  off  dimly  — 
"  but  with  so  many  people  about  —  people 
to  be  pleasant  to —  why  should  n't  you  just 
—  be  pleasant  ?  " 

107 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Pleasant  ?  Am  I  not  pleasant,  mama  ? 
To  whom  ?  " 

"Why,  everybody,  dearie;  and  —  Mr. 
Thair!" 

"But  I  am  pleasant  to  Charlie  Thair, 
mama.  I  'm  very,  very  pleasant." 

"  Yes,  yes,  pet,  you  are.  Only —  how  shall 
one  tell  the  child?  —  not  quite,  dearie,  so 
pleasant  as  if  you  cared — "  Mrs.  Budd 
stopped  short,  a  little  flustered  with  her  own 
indelicacy,  finishing  the  sentence  with  eyes 
and  hands.  In  all  her  talks  with  Julia  she 
had  not  before  come  quite  so  near  to  put- 
ting it  plainly.  Of  the  two,  Julia,  looking 
gravely  into  her  mother's  face,  was  the  least 
embarrassed. 

"  But  I  don't,"  she  said  simply. 

"  But  try,  pettie ;  try  to ! "  Mrs.  Budd's 
voice  was  anxious,  pleading.  "Mother 
wishes  it  so  much." 

Julia  bowed  her  head  over  the  nearest 
dachshund,  turned  his  collar  with  deliberate 
108 


THAIR  .  .  .  AND  CISSY 

fingers.  She  was  frankly  gaining  time,  cast- 
ing about  for  some  likely  means  to  put  off 
her  own  realization  of  the  subject  that  made 
the  air  fairly  electric  between  them. 

This  she  seemed  to  find  in  the  young 
man  who  stepped  out  of  the  glass  room 
upon  the  lawn,  a  little  dazed  in  the  noon 
glare.  Her  appeal  was  a  sweet,  ringing 
cry. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Longacre ! " 

Seeing  them  together,  he  stood  a  minute, 
seemed  to  hesitate,  then  came  toward  them 
over  the  grass;  hatless  in  the  sunshine,  he 
looked  fair,  and  a  little  dreamy.  His  finger 
kept  the  place  in  his  book. 

Mrs.  Budd  surveyed  him  with  a  solicitude 
amounting  to  annoyance.  She  turned  on  her 
daughter,  her  mouth  shaped  for  speech,  but 
his  quick  approach  gave  her  no  time.  It 
was  Julia  who  took  up  the  snapped  thread 
of  talk  in  a  fluttering  sentence : 

"  It 's  my  dogs  —  Mr.  Longacre  —  I  —  I 
109 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

wanted  you  to  see  them."     She  was  flushed, 
forehead  to  chin. 

"  Oh ! "  He  seemed  to  just  arrive  at  what 
was  expected  of  him.  "  They  're  very  nice 
ones." 

The  flatness  of  it  left  all  three  stranded  in 
uncomfortable  silence.  The  thought  in  each 
mind  of  how  much  might  be  said,  were  one 
of  the  others  away,  kept  them  from  saying 
anything  through  an  interminable  moment 
that  merged  unexpectedly  into  a  common  in- 
terest. It  centered  in  a  single  figure  loung- 
ing across  the  lawn  from  the  breakfast-room. 

Thair  came  slowly,  his  chin  in  the  air,  a 
dead  cigarette  in  his  fingers.  Julia  frowned. 
Mrs.  Budd  rustled.  Thair  strolled,  stopping 
to  pluck  an  oleander,  then  tossing  it  away. 

Mrs.  Budd  struggled  with  the  situation. 
She  half  turned  to  Longacre.  Her  eyes  fol- 
lowed the  fennel  path.  Again  she  opened  her 
lips,  with  the  odd  effect  of  making  her  seem- 
ingly the  author  of  Thair's  dilatory  drawl. 
1 10 


THAIR  .  .  .  AND   CISSY 

"  I  am  an  agitator,"  he  announced  at  large, 
"  a  disturber  of  the  existing  state  of  affairs." 
His  amused  eyes  lingered  a  moment  on  Julia's 
anticipatory  stare,  on  Longacre's  air  of  ready- 
for-anything.  He  addressed  himself  exclu- 
sively to  Mrs.  Budd.  "  Mrs.  Essington  has 
been  wondering  whether  this  was  the 
morning  you  were  going  to  show  her  — 
whatever  it  was  about  the  Japanese  chrys- 
anthemum." 

"  Oh ! "  Mrs.  Budd  clapped  her  hand  to 
her  cheek.  It  was  a  gesture  she  had  when 
suddenly  remembering. 

"That  's  all  I  know  —  what  she  said." 
Thair  was  deliberate.  "  She  was  coming  out, 
but  I  appointed  myself  ambassador." 

"  Oh,  why,  I  —  "  Mrs.  Budd  began.  The 
good  lady  was  fairly  cornered. 

"Oh,  then,"  she  said,  with  a  last  hope, 
"I  '11  leave  you  three  young  people  here 
together." 

"But,"  Thair  protested,  "  I  am  curious  my- 
111 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

self  to  know  what  it  is  about  the  what  's-its- 
name  chrysanthemum." 

She  was  already  in  full  retreat  for  the 
house  —  hair,  skirts,  sleeves  all  a-flutter.  The 
look  she  gave  him  over  her  shoulder  was 
despair ;  but  he,  imperturbable,  dropped  into 
her  wake,  tossing  his  dead  cigarette  into  the 
oleanders. 

The  quality  of  the  silence  these  two  left 
behind  them  was  of  a  different  sort  from  the 
triangular  uneasiness  of  the  moment  before. 
It  was  one  with  the  life  of  the  hot,  green 
circle  of  garden.  Something  inarticulate, 
more  simple  than  thought,  seemed  to  pass 
between  the  two.  The  girl,  still  on  her  knees, 
but  drawn  erect,  head  lifted,  eyes  blank, 
looked,  listening.  Even  thus,  what  height 
she  had,  what  length  of  line  !  What  strength 
in  that  flat  white  wrist,  what  vital  color  in 
her  face,  what  daring  in  the  back  fling  of  the 
head  !  Longacre  thought  he  had  never  seen 
her  more  splendid.  Yet  why  was  she  grown  , 

112 


THAIR  .  .  .  AND   CISSY 

suddenly  little  to  him,  helpless,  and  protect- 
able?  He  looked  down  at  the  sun  on  her 
dark  head.  There  rioted  in  him  a  reasonless 
desire  to  put  his  arms  around  it  —  to  comfort 
her,  to  hold  her !  To  hold  her !  Why,  what 
was  this  *?  When  had  he  ever — ?  Florence ! 
The  whole  of  the  evening  before  came  over 
him.  That  was  all  so  sure  and  right !  This  ? 
He  was  sick  with  himself.  He  was  torn  with 
a  divided  sense  of  reparation  to  Florence  and, 
somehow,  in  some  way,  reparation  here ! 

Some  of  the  stress  of  it,  in  his  face  looking 
down,  met  her  lifted  eyes.  She  seemed  to 
absorb,  without  comprehending,  his  trouble. 
She  was  only  suddenly  conscious  and  uncom- 
fortable. She  got  to  her  feet  without  the 
help  of  his  hand,  laughing  nervously,  biting 
her  lips. 

"  Oh,  how  —  how  stupid  of  me,  Mr.  Long- 
acre —  when  I  called  you  over  to  put  my 
pups  through  their  paces.  We  '11  do  it  now !  " 

She  was  eagerly  rolling  her  handkerchief 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

into  a  ball.     She  poised  it  for  throwing,  and 
looked  about  a  trifle  blankly. 

"  Why,  where  are  they  ?  They  're  gone  ! 
Stars!  Stripes!  Here,  boys!"  She  whistled. 
She  frowned. 

"  Oh,  no,  no ;  never  mind,"  Longacre  be- 
gan earnestly ;  "  really,  I  'd  rather  — " 

She  cut  him  short.  "  Then  come  and  look 
at  the  oleanders.  We  've  all  sorts.  Mama 
loves  them.  They  are  lovely,  but  not  sweet, 
you  know.  /  don't  love  them."  She  led 
across  the  open  lawn  toward  the  thicket  of 
blazing  color  that  hedged  it  on  the  house 
side. 

Longacre  followed  a  pace  behind,  the  word 
"  sweet "  repeating  itself  aimlessly  in  his  head. 
He  was  vexed  by  the  confusion  of  this  end- 
ing to  their  perfect  moment.  He  stood  list- 
lessly beside  her,  inattentive  to  her  naming 
over  the  varieties,  watching  the  quick  turns, 
from  side  to  side,  of  the  long  line  of  her 
throat. 

114 


THAIR  .  .  .  AND   CISSY 

If  such  were  to  be  his  feelings,  better  to  be 
away! 

In  this  position,  with  their  backs  to  the 
garden,  without  seeing,  they  were  seen  by  two 
turning  the  crook  in  the  fennel  walk,  and 
thus  quite  innocently  had  the  effect  of  check- 
ing the  flow  of  extraordinarily  amiable  chat 
with  which  these  two  had,  for  the  last  five 
minutes,  beguiled  the  time  while  waiting  for 
Mrs.  Budd  and  Thair. 

Cissy  stopped  short,  peering  through  the 
feathery  green. 

Florence  knew  that  the  other  two  there  in 
the  sun  were  the  logical  result  of  what  she 
had  sent  Thair  to  accomplish,  what  through 
the  night  she  had  made  out  was  due  to  Long- 
acre —  his  chance  to  be  sure  of  himself,  to  see 
just  where  he  stood.  Did  he  ?  Had  he  ?  If 
not,  he  must  have  more  time.  In  giving  him 
that,  she  would  have  done  what  she  could. 
He  must  see  it  through  his  own  eyes. 

She  could  n't,  with  straight  words,  let  him 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

go.  But  she  could  help  him  to  seeing ;  she 
could  let  him  alone.  She  turned  to  go  on, 
but  Cissy  had  assured  herself,  through  her 
peep-hole,  of  the  identity  of  the  person  she 
sought. 

"There  's  dear  Julia,"  she  tinkled.  "I 
have  n't  seen  her  this  morning.  I  must  —  I 
really  must  speak  to  her ! " 

She  made  a  preliminary  movement  toward 
an  opening  in  the  fennel,  her  skirts  held  high 
above  her  pretty,  preposterous  shoes. 

"  Oh,  would  you  ?  " 

Something  in  the  tone  made  Cissy  feel 
ridiculous.  She  hesitated,  hating  to  meet  the 
other  woman's  look.  She  raised  her  voice. 
"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  see  why  not !  " 

Florence  saw  Longacre  turn  as  Cissy 
flounced  through  the  hedge ;  then  she  went 
quickly  up  the  path  without  looking  back. 
Her  eyes  took  in  the  sudden  flight  of  a  linnet 
out  of  a  cypress  bough,  the  flickering  shad- 
ows of  the  fennel  blurring  the  walk,  and  the 
116 


.jViA  ^< 


)  on, 

gh  her 

j>crson  she 


Krnt  toward 
5  held  high 


Cissy  feel 
to  me< 


ic  went 

i  linne' 
sha.»- 


" Her  skirts  held  high  above  her  pretty,  preposterous  shoes' 


THAIR  .  .  .  AND  CISSY 

white  glass-room  door  at  the  end.  Her  ears 
heard  a  hurrying  tread  behind  her.  She  felt 
the  urge  of  pursuit,  a  keen  joy  that  he  still 
would,  though  he  should  not ! 

Her  whiteness  flickered  among  the  shad- 
ows as  she  fled ;  and  he  followed. 

He  caught  her  in  the  sun,  at  the  door  of 
the  glass  room. 

"  Oh,  you ! "  he  said,  a  little  breathless,  and 
laughing  up  at  her  from  the  steps  below. 

She  looked  at  him  silently,  still  of  a  mind 
for  flight,  her  hand  on  the  door.  It  opened 
suddenly  inward,  and  presented  them,  face  to 
face,  with  Holden,  who  stood,  hands  jammed 
into  the  bulging  pockets  of  his  old  shooting- 
coat. 

"  You  folks  don't  care  much  for  your  com- 
plexions, out  there  in  the  hot  sun,"  he  said. 
But  he  looked  at  Florence. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE    HOUSE-PARTY    IN    THE    STORM 

THE  breeze,  which  at  noon  had 
barely  rustled  the  chrysanthe- 
mums, an  hour  later  was  tossing 
the  pampas  plumes  across  the 
lawn,  and  whipping  the  great  sapphire  of  the 
sea  into  broken  green  and  white.    There  was 
something   ruffling   to   temper   in  the  dry, 
beating   breath.     Hammocks   were    empty, 
the  garden   deserted.     The  hardiest  of  the 
house-party  huddled  on  the  veranda  behind 
the  Samoan  blinds  that  snapped  in  the  heavy 
wind.     It  was  not  the  "  trade  "  blowing  in 
from  sea  —  salt  and  dreamy  with  far  going 
—  but  a  land  wind  driving  down  through 
the  mountains,  stinging  with  sharp  odors  of 
118 


IN   THE   STORM 

dust  and  dry  leaves  —  the  very  dregs  of 
summer. 

The  sun  went  down  through  a  wrack  of 
broken  clouds  into  a  thundering  ocean.  To 
the  party  gathered  around  the  hall  hearth, 
and  straggling  up  to  the  first  turn  of  the 
stair,  the  garden  appeared  a  writhing,  twist- 
ing thing,  crowded  upon,  and  threatened  by 
the  raw,  gray  twilight.  Bowed  trees  and 
lashing  vines  were  the  more  piteous  that  there 
was  no  storm  but  the  ceaseless  wind  stream- 
ing by,  roaring  across  the  roof,  shaking  the 
window-casings,  beating  the  flowers  flat. 

The  wild  night  offered  to  those  about  the 
fire  the  opportunity  of  drawing  together; 
but  the  uneasiness,  the  inexplicable,  mutual 
distrust  of  people  aware  of  strong  cross-cur- 
rents under  the  surface  of  living,  separated 
them.  Their  common  isolation,  even  their 
common  shelter,  failed  to  unite  them. 

The  curiosity,  careless  or  eager,  with  which 
they  had  met  one  another  on  the  first  even- 
119 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

ing  —  the  interest  for  inexperienced  person- 
alities—  had  been  replaced  by  a  sharp,  per- 
sonal thread  in  the  web  propinquity  weaves. 
Each  was  no  longer  a  watcher  of,  but  an 
actor  in,  a  drama,  and  each  more  or  less  dis- 
satisfied with  the  part  assigned  him. 

Their  undermined  sociability  was  apparent 
in  wandering  eyes,  shifting  groups,  flurries 
of  talk  running  into  blind  alleys.  Who 
could  have  helped  through  the  interminable 
evening,  would  not.  Julia  refused  to  sing. 
Thair  read.  Longacre  intrenched  himself 
with  round-cheeked  Bessie  Lewis  against  the 
fear  of  being  asked  to  play.  He  was  bored 
with  his  predicament,  and  puzzled  as  to  why 
Florence  had  chosen  to  sit  with  Cissy  and 
Holden. 

Florence,  irresolute,  wretchedly  at  odds 
with  herself,  hated  the  sight  of  this  collection 
of  people.  She  was  glad  to  get  away  to  her 
room.  The  great  sound  of  the  wind,  surg- 
ing by  the  windows,  helped  to  lull  her  strug- 
120 


IN   THE   STORM 

gling  motives ;  and  waking  in  the  night  to  a 
gush  of  roaring  rain,  she  felt  singularly  at 
peace,  consoled  by  the  unhesitating  strength 
of  the  storm. 

But  the  dull  face  of  the  next  morning  was 
a  depressing  outlook.  The  gray  sheet  of  the 
storm  blotted  out  dunes  and  sea.  The  close 
damp  of  the  first  rains,  imperfectly  dispersed' 
by  too  lately  kindled  fires,  filled  the  rooms 
with  its  vague  discomfort. 

The  house-party  displayed  the  hectic  amia- 
bility of  people  whose  breeding  does  not  per- 
mit them  to  betray  their  disgust  at  being,  for 
a  number  of  days,  cooped  up  together  be- 
tween the  same  four  walls. 

The  youngsters'  ill-humor  deplored  the 
postponed  hunting.  The  elders  hopelessly 
cited  instances  of  October  rains  that  had 
cleared  with  the  first  sunset.  Mrs.  Budd 
apologized  for  the  weather  as  she  would  have 
for  an  overdone  entree.  Her  guests  re- 
sponded in  scattering  chorus. 

121 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

It  was  "jolly"  — "a  lark"  — "just  the 
thing  for  a  quiet  day ! "  —  a  round  of  depre- 
cation that  failed  to  leave  them  otherwise 
than  chilly  and  damp.  It  was  not  an  at- 
mosphere that  clung  to  them,  but  rather  one 
they  exhaled  —  one  that  existed  in  the  face 
of  the  most  flourishing  of  fires,  that  clouded 
the  most  amiable  game  of  billiards,  that  sharp- 
ened the  most  friendly  exchange  of  opinion. 
The  out-of-doors  that  had  offered  such  excel- 
lent opportunities  for  escaping  themselves,  or 
one  another,  was  denied  them.  They  were 
forced  to  face  conditions  that  two  days  had 
created  —  conditions  of  which  all  understood 
too  much  to.  be  unconcerned ;  of  which  no 
one  knew  the  whole.  Even  Florence,  who 
perhaps  understood  most,  was  bewildered 
completely  on  one  point.  But  that  was  not 
Longacre's  place  in  the  web.  His  figure  to 
her  was  clear  in  the  foreground.  His  be- 
wilderment in  her  sudden  change;  his  en- 
deavor to  bridge  this  distance  she  had  so 

122 


IN   THE  STORM 

suddenly  forced  between  them,  to  win  back 
what  had  been  given  and  then  so  tacitly,  so 
inexplicably  withdrawn,  made  her  suffer. 
That  first  day  was  little  less  than  a  battle  be- 
tween their  two  wills. 

At  what  effort  she  maintained  toward  him 
the  kindness  of  her  smile,  the  quiescence  of 
her  feeling,  the  resolution  not  to  avoid  him, 
she  did  not  realize  herself.  It  impressed  her 
that  he  sought  her  out  more  than  usual. 
Formerly  they  had  avoided  marked  associa- 
tion in  a  crowd.  Now,  was  he  avoiding  some 
one  else  ?  Irritable,  moody,  he  seemed  most 
at  ease  with  her,  yet,  otherwise  than  his  wont, 
had  little  to  say;  and  his  eyes  were  more 
often  away  from  her,  following  another's 
coming  and  going. 

That  tall  Julia  carried  the  shadow  of  the 
storm  in  her  face.  She  looked  cloudy.  She 
was  pale.  Then,  feeling  a  certain  pair  of 
eyes  upon  her,  out  flashed  the  color  like  a 
suddenly  blossomed  flower.  All  at  once  she 
123 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

seemed  to  mean  something  more  than  youth 
and  beauty.  She  was  less  intent  upon  herself, 
more  sensitive  to  who  came  and  went;  and 
sometimes  her  glance  was  backward — across 
her  shoulder,  as  if  aware  of  one  behind  her. 
Whose  those  fancied  footsteps  were,  Florence 
had  no  doubt.  But  this  was  the  knot  she 
could  not  unravel:  just  what  did  Longacre 
mean  to  Julia  ?  How  much  could  she  be  to 
him? 

A  consciousness  in  her  bearing  toward  him 
made  it  never  twice  the  same  —  now  imperi- 
ous, now  timid  ;  now  making  advances,  now 
repelling ;  but  indifferent  never.  More  often 
Florence  thought  she  looked  bewildered,  as 
though  something  infallible  had  failed  her. 
And  though  at  times  she  filled  the  room  with 
her  rich  voice  —  speaking,  laughing,  singing 
—  at  times  she  stilled  and  drew  away  from 
the  others,  and  bent  her  black  brows  on  the 
storm  outside  in  a  passionate  brooding,  as  if, 
by  her  very  desire  for  release,  she  would  es- 
124 


IN   THE   STORM 

cape  the  confining  house,  and  pierce  the 
clouds,  and  find  the  sun. 

To  Florence  the  house  was  nothing  else 
than  a  shelter  from  herself.  In  its  restrained 
atmosphere,  hemmed  in  by  the  monotonous, 
dripping  rain,  it  was  easier  to  lose  emotion, 
to  keep  a  quiet  pulse;  easier  also  to  perceive 
in  what  direction  these  people,  forced  into 
constant  conjunction  of  contradictory  motives, 
would  turn  circumstance.  However  strongly 
she  herself  desired  to  mold  it,  she  felt  that 
now  she  must  leave  it  alone.  Even  the  fact 
of  Cissy  Fitz  Hugh's  persistent  hovering  in 
Julia's  vicinity,  mischievous  as  it  looked, 
might  only  serve  to  shape  events  the  faster. 

Undoubtedly  Cissy  meant  mischief,  and 
though  in  sticking  herself  so  fast  to  Julia  she 
was  more  adroit  than  Florence  had  thought 
possible,  her  lack  of  imagination  limited  her. 
She  annoyed  the  girl  like  a  buzzing  insect. 
Julia  tried  to  shake  her  off.  But  Cissy  had 
intrenched  herself  in  a  cast-iron  sweetness 
125 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

that  no  impatience  could  ruffle,  no  rebuff 
shatter. 

She  had  a  very  sharp  eye  on  her  cousin 
Thair.  She  suspected  him.  She  could  n't 
get  at  him.  That  illuminating  talk  of  theirs 
over  the  breakfast-table  had  given  her  a  clue. 
Longacre  did  have  a  fancy  for  Florence  Es- 
sington !  Cissy  imagined  every  man  had  a 
fancy  for  herself  until  it  was  proved  other- 
wise. Well,  now  it  was  proved  otherwise ; 
but  as  long  as  a  man  was  within  reach  she 
felt  him  securable.  But  Thair  had  suggested 
Julia.  This  was  troublesome !  Julia  was  a 
beauty.  Julia  must  be  kept  off,  dragged  off, 
until  she  could  finally  be  scared  away. 

It  was  only  while  strolling  in  the  conser- 
vatory with  her  arm  around  Julia's  waist,  or 
playing  Julia's  accompaniments  —  an  office 
Longacre  uneasily  avoided  —  that  Cissy  felt 
at  all  safe.  She  was  dropping  hints  all  round 
the  margin  of  what  she  wanted  to  say.  But 
Julia  was  too  absorbed  in  new,  mysterious 
126 


IN   THE   STORM 

emotions  ,to  regard  her  manoeuvers.  She 
simply  did  n't  see  them.  Her  abstraction 
was  exasperating  to  Cissy,  who  was  afraid  to 
go  too  far.  She  had  once  seen  Julia  angry. 
She  realized  that  the  right  hint,  properly 
dropped,  would  comfortably  bridge  her  dif- 
ficulty. But  having  it,  how  to  get  neatly 
across  ?  That  was  the  point.  As  usual,  she 
fell  in  with  a  splash. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  second  afternoon  of 
storm,  with  the  rain  clattering  on  the  west 
front  of  the  glass  room,  she  followed  in  Julia's 
wake  up  and  down  among  the  fragile  ferns. 
The  girl's  eyes  were  earnestly  on  the  flowers, 
but  Cissy's  were  everywhere  —  toward  the 
window,  as  if  expecting  to  see  some  one  in 
the  garden;  prying  through  the  curtain 
chinks;  then,  with  a  quick  peer  of  curiosity, 
following  a  shadow  that  through  the  half- 
open  door  she  saw  crossing  the  library  floor. 
Then  the  piano  answered  to  compelling  fingers. 

It  had  sounded  much  through  the  past 
127 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

two  days,  but  now  it  spoke.  Julia  lifted  her 
head  as  if  it  had  spoken  to  her.  She  did  not 
look  over  her  shoulder,  but  frowned  out  into 
the  rain,  and  presently  went  on  trimming  her 
plants.  Cissy,  peeping  between  the  spikes  of 
a  dwarf  palm  saw  through  the  glass  the  out- 
line of  a  man  seated,  of  a  woman  standing, 
her  hand  poised  at  the  music-sheet  on  the 
rack.  Presently  she  began  singing,  but  sing- 
ing with  a  half-voice,  as  if  she  listened,  fol- 
lowing him  like  an  accompaniment.  There 
was  something  accustomed,  attuned,  in  their 
relative  positions,  as  if  they  had  fallen  into 
them  naturally  through  long  habit.  The  sig- 
nificance of  this  touched  even  Cissy's  thick 
sensibility,  but  only  as  being  the  very  thing 
she  wanted. 

"  How  absorbed  those  people  are ! "  she 
observed,  with  a  casual  nod  toward  the  glass 
doors  behind  her. 

Julia  gave  a  glance  that  seemed  not  to 
have  noticed  them  before. 
128 


IN   THE   STORM 

"  Mrs.  Essington  plays  very  well  herself," 
she  threw  out  carelessly. 

"  Oh,  no!  "  Cissy  assured  her.  "  Only  a 
very  little.  But  she  's  so  awfully  interested  in 
his  work  —  such  an  inspiration  to  him  in 
every  way ! " 

"  Yes?  "  Julia  snipped  off  the  head  of  a 
cyclamen. 

Cissy  was  angry  at  what  seemed  to  her 
obtuseness. 

"  The  only  wonder  is,"  she  said  a  little 
acidly,  "  considering  what  she  is  to  him,  that 
he  does  n't  marry  her !  " 

Julia  raised  her  head  from  the  asparagus- 
fern  and  gave  Cissy  a  straight  look. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  she  flashed. 
Her  blush  was  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

Cissy  gave  a  little  scream  of  mingled  sur- 
prise and  horror.  "  What  can  you  think  I 
mean ! "  She  reached  her  arm  around  Julia. 
"  Of  course  it  's  a  perfectly  straight  affair. 
He  's  simply  waiting  for  her  answer." 
9  129 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

She  felt  the  girl  fairly  quiver  under  her 
touch.  She  took  one  step  too  far. 

"  Of  course  she  's  years  older  than  he,  but 
he  's  just  the  sort  of  a  man  to  like  that." 

Julia  removed  Cissy's  arm  from  her  waist 
much  as  she  might  have  plucked  offa  spider, 
gathered  up  her  little  watering-pot  and  shears, 
and  left  the  conservatory  without  a  word. 
She  crossed  the  library  without  glancing  at 
the  two  by  the  piano. 

Cissy  looked  rather  stunned.  She  looked 
curiously  at  the  arm  Julia  had  discarded. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  she  thought,  "  one 
would  suppose  I  was  dirty ! " 

She  settled  her  combs  in  her  sleek  hair, 
and  presently  took  the  course  Julia  had  fol- 
lowed. She  did  not  join  Florence  and  Long- 
acre,  because  the  more  she  saw  of  Florence 
the  more  she  was  afraid  of  her.  Besides,  she 
felt  a  childish  excitement  in  her  cheap  little 
role  of  intrigante.  And  there  was  another 
person  upon  whom  she  could  practise  it 
130 


IN   THE  STORM 

without  fear :  Mrs.  Budd,  more  unsuspicious 
than  her  daughter,  and  as  credulous. 

Poor  woman  !  Her  outspoken,  objective 
nature  had  been  sorely  tried  by  these  days 
with  so  little  doing  on  the  surface  of  things, 
and  so  much  on  the  under  side.  Her  mind 
was  a  blur  of  conjecture  over  what  Thair  was 
going  to  do.  Longacre  was  a  disturbing  ele- 
ment she  had  not  named.  It  was  Cissy  who 
clapped  on  the  appellation.  It  was  Cissy 
who  helped  her  to  a  conclusion. 

It  all  came  out  so  casually,  on  the  side, 
with  the  things  they  discussed  over  their  lace- 
making  in  the  wide-windowed  upper  living- 
room. 

Then  it  was  Longacre  (according  to  Cissy) 
who  had  kept  Thair  —  extremely  sensitive — 
at  a  distance  :  Longacre,  charming,  a  dear — 
but,  well  —  fond  of  being  about  married 
women.  Cissy  had  had  her  little  experience 
with  him,  and  of  course  (magnanimously) 
there  must  be  others. 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  But  if  you  knew:  this  about  him  —  and  let 
me  take  such  a  man  into  my  house  —  when  I 
have  a  young  girl ! " 

But,  oh,  Cissy  was  horrified.  No !  not  such 
an  attitude  to  Julia!  Never!  The  point 
was,  Did  Mrs.  Budd  want  Julia  to  marry 
such  a  man  *? 

"  Marry  Julia  !  "     This  was  appalling. 

Cissy  felt  much  satisfaction.  Her  inten- 
tion was  far  from  cruel.  She  merely  wanted 
something  very  much,  and  was  trying  to  get 
it.  Gaging  their  feelings  by  her  own,  it  never 
occurred  to  her  that  she  had  more  than  vexed 
and  annoyed  her  hostess  and  her  hostess's 
daughter.  And  this  she  preferred  to  being 
vexed  and  annoyed  herself. 

But  the  circumstances,  upon  which  she 
had  laid  such  bold  hands,  burst  from  her 
grasp  and  rushed  past  her.  Yet  Cissy  was 
not  aware  of  their  progress.  It  was  Florence 
Essington  who  first  felt  their  precipitation. 
She  foreboded  a  crisis. 
132 


IN   THE   STORM 

With  the  waning  afternoon  the  veil  of  the 
rain  lifted  and  showed  the  long  hook  of  the 
coast  edged  with  leaping  breakers,  and  a 
hurly-burly  of  high  clouds  tearing  across  the 
sky.  The  sun  went  down  with  streamers  of 
yellow  through  the  breaking  storm.  But  the 
voice  of  the  ocean  grew  louder  with  the 
wilder  wind,  until  by  fall  of  night  its  pulse 
was  in  the  very  timbers  of  the  house.  Its 
tumult  assailed  the  very  doors. 

The  house-party  met  over  the  tea-cups 
with  such  a  sense  of  excitement  as  they  might 
have  felt  aboard  ship  in  a  gale,  an  exhilara- 
tion that,  by  its  feverishness,  was  the  reaction 
from  the  depression  of  their  immurement 

It  was  the  last  of  the  rain,  Holden  pre- 
dicted ;  and  the  expectation  of  release  dashed 
them  all  into  high  spirits. 

Julia  was  gorgeous.  If  she  had  not  been 
so  beautiful  she  might  have  seemed  over- 
done. She  was  alluring;  she  laughed  and 
murmured  toThair  until  he  was  overwhelmed 

133 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

by  the  beauty  of  it.  If  he  looked  at  her  with 
all  the  admiration  he  gave  to  Gainsborough's 
lovely,  pictured  ladies  —  and  coveted  her  to 
frame  and  hang  in  his  gallery  —  there  was  no 
reason  Mrs.  Budd  should  not  imagine  he 
coveted  her  to  decorate  the  foot  of  his  table. 
The  memory  of  Cissy's  uncomfortable  sug- 
gestions were  confused  with  what  seemed 
the  near  consummation  of  her  hopes;  but 
for  the  first  time  in  forty-eight  hours  she 
beamed. 

Longacre  was  talking  pointedly  and  exclu- 
sively to  Florence.  Cissy  once  or  twice  tried 
to  throw  in  a  word.  She  got  a  glance,  an 
assent  without  the  obstinate  head  turning  in 
her  direction.  It  was  stupendous  rudeness, 
but  he  was  oblivious  to  everything  but  his 
need  of  Florence.  He  wanted  her  respon- 
siveness, her  sympathy,  to  help  him  escape 
his  tormenting  self.  He  talked  rapidly.  He 
seemed  eager.  He  was  angry  that  her  cold- 
ness left  him  keenly  aware  of  the  palpitating 

134 


IN   THE  STORM 

presence  of  the  girl  who  flashed  her  dark  eyes 
so  hotly  around  the  room. 

But  Florence  read  in  his  eagerness  its 
double  element.  Her  throat  ached  with  the 
fullness  of  tears. 

Weeks,  months  ago,  when  she  had  first 
felt  the  subtle  change  in  him,  so  slight  that 
she  had  resolutely  called  it  fancy,  that  terri- 
ble possibility  of  another  woman  had  given 
her  some  sleepless  nights ;  but  she  had  hoped, 
as  her  knowledge  grew,  that  it  was  a  nega- 
tive fate  —  one  of  the  slow  changes  time 
brings  about  in  mind  and  body  —  that  was 
drawing  the  man  she  loved  away  from  her. 
She  had  made  herself  ready  to  meet  such  a 
fatality,  but  the  calamity  that  came  was  un- 
expected. It  had  her  by  surprise;  and  at 
the  outset  she  had  failed  of  everything  she 
had  determined  on. 

She  was  not  a  jealous  woman,  but  she  had 
not  realized  how  it  would  seem  to  have  him 
love  another  woman. 

135 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

And  what  was  this  woman?  Beautiful 
overwhelmingly,  unquestionably  to  be  reck- 
oned with,  but  ignorant  —  a  child!  What 
was  she  going  to  be  ?  What  could  she  be 
to  him?  A  spur  or  a  clog1?  Florence 
knew  the  man  too  well  to  suppose  he  would 
shake  off  the  latter.  He  would  endure,  and 
grow  less.  It  seemed  bitter  to  her,  then, 
that  he  was  a  man  who  could  be  made  or 
marred  by  a  woman,  and  she  not  that 
woman. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  she  heard  him 
saying.  The  face  he  turned  to  her  showed 
his  irritation.  Would  n't  he  yet  face  it  — 
that  he  loved  the  girl?  It  was  proof  to 
Florence  of  what  power  she  had  with  him. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  went  on  in  a  murmur 
so  inarticulate  that  only  her  ears,  that  knew 
his  voice  as  they  knew  her  own,  could  catch 
it,  "we  've  been  miserable  every  moment 
since  we  've  been  in  this  place.  Let  's  get 
out !  For  heaven's  sake,  come  up  to  town 
136 


IN   THE  STORM 

to-morrow,  and  we  '11  be  married,  and  get 
away  to  the  other  side  of  the  earth ! " 

She  had  a  hysterical  desire  to  laugh. 

"Oh,  Tony,  you  're  the  only  man  in  the 
world  who  could  say  a  thing  like  that,  in  a 
situation  like  this." 

He  grumbled,  "Why  not?     I  mean  it." 

She  knew  he  meant  it.  She  suffered  in 
the  temptation  to  say  yes,  to  end  everything 
like  that,  to  take  what  consequences  followed 
when  he  should  some  day  know,  and  hate 
her  for  it.  She  looked  at  Julia.  Not  alone 
the  beauty  of  her,  but  some  suggestion  in  its 
generous  richness  of  a  like  nature,  made  the 
rest  of  them  seem  cheap.  Florence  felt 
faded  as  she  looked.  What  a  woman  for  a 
man  to  lose ! 

Longacre's  eyes  followed  the  direction 
Florence's  had  taken.  He  made  an  impa- 
tient movement. 

If  he  stayed  a  few  days  longer  under  the 
girl's  spell,  he  would  find  out  himself  how 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

hard  matters  were  with  him.  But  before 
that  happened  he  must  be  free  of  her.  It 
came  to  Florence  all  at  once  that  this  man 
would  not  free  himself.  What  a  loyalty  to 
lose !  And  to  put  it  away  with  her  own 
hands ! 

"  Florence ! "  he  persisted.  She  meant  to 
say  that  she  had  something  to  tell  him  later 
that  would  answer  his  question,  but  her 
tongue  tricked  her  into  a  gay  evasion.  She 
put  him  off.  Because  she  saw  the  end  must 
come,  soon  or  late,  she  put  it  off.  She  would 
tell  him  to-morrow. 


•38 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LONGACRE  TRAPS  HIMSELF 

**    M     TOMORROW'S  "  sun  rose  on  a 

miraculous  world  that  dripped 

and  steamed,  and  breathed  a 

-^^-         thousand   sweet  scents  into  a 

cloudless  sky.    The  coast  road,  white  for  five 

months  with   flying  dust,   was  black,  with 

flashing   pools   of  water   among  the   trees. 

Their  leaves,  so  long  powdered  pale  with 

summer,  were  glistening  green,  shaking  in 

the  wind  that  was  subsiding  slowly.     The 

breakers  still  bellowed  up  the  little  beaches 

and  battered  the  rocky  promontories;    but 

they    were    sapphire-blue    till    their    crests 

curled  over, —  no    longer  tattered    by    the 

wind,  but  breaking,  far  as  eye  could  follow 

139 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

around  the  coast,  in  long  white  semicircles 
of  foam. 

"  Miramar  "  was  flung  wide  to  this  morn- 
ing of  "  latter  spring,"  and  the  multitudinous 
sharp  odors  of  the  garden  poured  through 
open  doors  and  windows.  The  house  was 
unpeopled.  All  were  abroad  in  the  garden, 
strolling  down  the  spongy  paths,  shaking 
cataracts  of  drops  from  dahlia  and  chrysan- 
themum in  their  passing;  whistling  up  the 
dogs  across  the  terraces;  calling  to  one  an- 
other —  scattering  and  rallying. 

Theirs  was  a  high,  animal  pulse  —  such 
relish  and  excitement  of  living  as  a  runner 
has  who  pulls  himself  together  for  a  leap. 
Those  purposes  and  emotions  that  had  had 
their  growth  in  the  thick  atmosphere  of  the 
storm  were  quickened,  pressing  against  cir- 
cumstance, ready  to  burst  out.  They  boded 
a  crisis. 

Julia  Budd's  face  alone  was  assurance  of 
happenings  as  she  came  across  the  lawn  with 
140 


LONGACRE   TRAPS   HIMSELF 

her  long,  free  step,  her  skirts  picked  high, 
her  dachshunds  in  leash.  Eyes  lowering, 
mouth  smiling,  she  looked  neither  at  Bessie 
Lewis  on  her  right,  nor  Thair  on  her  left,  but 
talked  rapidly,  apparently  for  any  ears  that 
cared  to  listen.  Now  she  quickened  her 
pace,  took  the  path  border  in  a  leap,  and  had 
a  hand  on  Holden's  arm. 

"  Mr.  Thair  says  it 's  too  heavy  going  for 
the  hunt ! "  She  threw  it  out,  less  a  plea 
than  a  flat  statement. 

"  Good  heavens,  young  woman ! "  Hold- 
en's  eye  ran  over  the  dripping  terraces.  "They 
won't  have  the  dogs  out  to-day ! " 

"  M'm,"  she  nodded  emphatically.  "  I 
rang  up  the  club  before  breakfast,  and  the 
M.  F.  H.  says,  '  Yes.' " 

Holden  grunted.  "  They  '11  mire  in  a 
minute." 

She  thrust  out  her  shoe,  damp  but  unmud- 
died,  with  a  laugh.  She  called  out  his 
broadest  smile. 

141 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  It 's  another  thing  down  there."  He  in- 
dicated the  "  sea  meadows  "  with  a  back  mo- 
tion of  the  head.  "  If  we  fellows  break  our 
necks  it  does  n't  matter;  but  you  ladies  — 
wait  till  next  week  ! " 

"  I  can't  wait ! " 

"  It  may  dry  off  enough  by  afternoon," 
Holden  said,  admiring  her  spirit. 

"  Will  you  go  with  me,  then  ? "  Her 
foot  drummed  the  ground.  As  he  hesitated, 
she  flashed  round  at  Thair. 

"  Will  you  *?  " 

"My  dear  young  madam  — "  he  pro- 
tested. 

"  I  '11  go ! "  said  Longacre,  across  the  group. 

It  looked  so  obviously  a  gallantry  to  res- 
cue a  lost  cause !  For  an  instant  it  seemed 
she  hated  him.  Then  she  laughed. 

"  Why,  I  'm  not  afraid  to  go  alone ! " 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Longacre.  "  That  's  not 
why  I  asked  you  to  let  me  come." 

Julia  looked  at  him  in  confusion.  This 
142 


LONGACRE   TRAPS   HIMSELF 

sudden  sally  out  of  his  aloofness  touched  her, 
and  left  her  at  a  loss. 

Florence  Essington  bowed  her  face  to  the 
yellow  mass  of  chrysanthemums  —  held  it 
there  a  moment.  When  she  looked  up, 
Longacre  was  kneeling  to  unfasten  the  dachs- 
hunds' leash,  the  girl  standing  straight,  with 
quick-rising  bosom,  but  a  composed  face 
averted  from  him,  looking  down  the  terraces. 

As  the  unleashed  dogs  capered  up  around 
her,  she  began  tossing  twigs  and  pebbles 
down  the  slope,  the  dogs  scuttling  back  and 
forth  in  an  ecstasy  of  barking.  / 

Longacre  saw  the  deepening  color  of  her 
cheek.'  As  they  stood,  hers  was  not  so  far 
from  his  own.  The  look  with  which  she  had 
answered  his  proffer  of  escort  —  the  look  so 
out  of  proportion  to  the  moment,  so  given 
in  spite  of  herself — had  stirred  in  him  some- 
thing equally  ill-governed  and  inconsequent ; 
had  called  out  in  him  something  at  once 
more  natural,  and  more  spiritual,  than  he 

143 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

had  imagined  the  existence  of;  something 
more  powerful  than  he  had  ever  expected  to 
reckon  with.  This,  then,  was  the  intangible 
thing  he  had  been  dodging.  How  easily  he 
was  slipping  into  this  dazzling  emotion ! 
The  past  seemed  dropping  away  from  him ; 
the  future  was  nebulous.  He  brought  him- 
self up  short,  angry  that  a  man  might  so 
lightly  become  a  cad.  He  had  never  liked 
the  way  this  girl  affected  him.  What  place 
had  this  overpowering  alien  thing  in  his  life, 
he  wondered  savagely.  Yet  he  looked  at 
Julia. 

Silent  as  she  was,  helpless,  and  not  a  little 
awkward,  her  very  nearness  elated  him. 
When  she  turned  to  go  he  felt  deserted. 
He  snatched  at  any  excuse  to  keep  beside 
her. 

"  May  I  walk  to  the  house  with  you  ? " 
He  knew  that  had  been  the  wrong  thing  to 
say. 

"Of  course,"  she  answered.  Her  lips 
144 


LONGACRE   TRAPS   HIMSELF 

trembled  around  the  words.  She  had  for- 
gotten Cissy's  communication.  Strange  that 
a  fact  could  be  so  unstable  in  the  face  of  a 
personality !  But  in  that  moment  her  world 
was  a  short,  green  walk  between  fennel  bor- 
ders to  a  glass  door. 

They  drank  in  the  overwhelming  sweet  of 
heliotrope.  He  walked  stiffly  beside  her, 
looking  straight  before.  She  looked  sidelong 
at  him,  and  wondered  what  he  thought  of 
her.  If  he  did  n't  like  it,  why  had  he  asked 
to  walk  with  her?  The  gap  in  the  hedge, 
the  oleanders  flaming  beyond,  brought  back 
to  her  that  morning  she  had  called  him  across 
the  grass.  She  wondered  at  herself.  She 
could  never  have  done  it  if  she  had  known 
he  was  going  to  be  so  dreadful.  Had  she 
betrayed  herself  to  this  equivocal  mystery  ? 
No,  he  was  n't  like  any  one  else.  She  had 
always  known  it;  and  she  was  shocked  at 
herself  that  just  the  look  of  him,  when  he 
was  so  disagreeable,  should  make  her  so 
145 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

happy.  She  wanted  to  keep  him  with  her, 
and  the  glass  door  took  on  the  aspect  of  in- 
exorable fate.  The  gap  in  the  hedge  was 
the  only  loop-hole.  She  turned  toward  it 
with  the  fine  assurance  that  carried  her  over 
her  doubts. 

He  stopped,  blank  at  this  unexpected 
manceuver.  Did  she  want  to  get  rid  of  him  ? 
He  had  believed  that  he  wished  himself  out 
of  it,  but  the  thought  of  going  away  was  un- 
endurable. 

Standing  among  the  dancing  greens,  she 
looked  back  at  him.  The  wind  blew  her 
clear  pink  skirts  fluttering  toward  him.  Her 
gentle  "  Are  n't  you  coming  ?  "  saved  him ; 
but  the  sort  of  smile  she  gave,  threatened  — 
seemed  diabolic.  But  she  had  seen,  in  his 
moment  of  unhappy  hesitation,  that  he  feared 
to  lose  her ;  and  her  spirits  leaped,  her  eyes 
lighted,  her  mouth  flowered  in  that  sudden 
bewildering  smile.  Down  on  the  slopes  of 
the  hot,  wet  lawns  they  heard  the  cicadas 
146 


LONGACRE   TRAPS   HIMSELF 

singing.  The  full  green  tops  of  trees  moved 
on  a  melting  sky.  This  riotous  out-of-doors 
conspired  with  her  against  him.  He  felt,  if 
she  went  on  smiling  like  that,  she  would 
have  him. 

"For  a  moment  I  thought  you  were  n't 
coming ! "  she  called. 

"  I  'm  not,"  he  said. 

The  color  fluttered  into  her  face,  but  "  Not 
coming  ?  "  she  bravely  mocked  at  him. 

He  stood  resolute,  but  his  hard,  long  look 
at  her  made  her  heart  beat  strongly. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  in,"  he  said. 

He  expected  to  see  her  flare  away  from 
him  through  the  oleanders,  but,  instead,  she 
came  toward  him,  dragging  her  steps  like  an 
unhappy  child.  That  he  should  be  the  one 
to  make  her  look  like  that !  He  was  fierce 
with  himself. 

"  You  know  I  want  to  come ! "  he  said 
angrily.  "  I  'd  come  anywhere  with  you  !  " 
He  caught  himself  desperately.  He  had  a 

H7 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

feeling  that  he  must  save  them.  "  But  —  but 
you  said  you  were  going  in.  I  think  we  'd 
better."  He  clutched  for  banalities.  "  Let 's 
have  a  game  of  billiards.  Let  's  ring  up  the 
club  about  the  meet.  Let  's  —  "he  seized 
upon  the  next  idea  with  relief —  "  I  've  never 
heard  you  sing  since  that  first  night." 

She  looked  up  in  bewilderment,  fretted  by 
the  trivialities.  "  But  you  said  you  did  n't 
like  it  —  that  I  had  no  feeling !  " 

He  winced,  knowing  this  was  just  his 
reason.  He  had  remembered  how  the  emp- 
tiness of  her  lovely  voice  had  seemed  to  es- 
trange them.  The  sound  of  it  in  the  dead 
boundary  of  walls  might  break  the  live  en- 
chantment of  her  presence. 

"  Oh,  give  me  another  chance !  "  He  tried 
to  take  it  lightly.  -But  their  consciousness 
read  into  his  words  multiple  meanings.  They 
came  to  the  glass  door  in  silence.  He  fol- 
lowed her  through  the  glass  room,  where  she 
plucked  a  tuberose  whose  sweet  scent  pur- 
148 


LONGACRE   TRAPS   HIMSELF 

sued  him  at  once  to  vex  and  delight  him. 
She  seemed  to  gather  more  beauty  by  that 
perfume.  In  her  ignorance  she  was  reckless 
with  her  power.  In  her  unconscious  beguile- 
ment  she  was  perilous  to  be  near.  He  hoped 
she  would  sing  badly  —  off  key  —  anything 
to  help  him  escape  her. 

She  took  a  sheet  of  music,  a  modern  ar- 
rangement of  an  old  song.  The  first  notes 
startled  him.  Did  her  pliant  voice  take  color 
from  the  music,  or  had  it  found  a  tenderness 
of  its  own*?  It  came  at  first  uncertainly. 
The  deep  tones  drew  out  tremulous,  the 
high  notes  quivering  with  too  keen  intensity: 
but  it  lived;  it  interpreted;  it  was  signifi- 
cant. 

"  Beautiful,  beautiful ! "  some  chord  within 
him  seemed  repeating.  The  sweetness,  the 
pure  passion  of  that  voice,  singing  up  from 
him,  away  from  him,  in  sublime  ignorance  of 
the  birth  of  its  being  and  the  danger  of  its 
flight !  He  would  not  look  at  her;  but  in  this 
149 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

new  voice  of  hers  for  the  first  time  he  seemed 
to  see  the  soul,  more  beautiful  than  her  beauty 
—  as  desirable  as  life ;  and  he  had  no  right  to 
think  of  her ! 

The  chords  went  to  pieces.  His  hands  fell 
jangling  upon  the  keys.  He  saw  her,  the 
half-sung  note  dying  away  between  her 
parted  lips  —  still  parted  in  amazement.  It 
made  him  desperate,  that  look  of  innocence 
that  could  n't  help  him  ! 

"  It  's  such  rot ! "  he  said  grimly  at  the 
music-sheet,  and  ran  his  hands  in  a  thunder 
of  discords  down  the  keys.  "  You  sang  it 
well  enough.  If  you  understood  it,  I  dare 
say  you  'd  do  it  badly." 

Her  mouth  grieved.  Her  eyes  flashed,  re- 
sentful; she  was  bewildered  by  his  rapid 
changes. 

"  First  you  say  I  sing  without  feeling,  and 
then  you  tell  me  I  should  feel  more  and  sing 
badly !  I  think  you  are  hard  to  please." 

"  No ;  art  is  acting.  I  am  complimenting 
150 


LONGACRE   TRAPS   HIMSELF 

you  on  yours."  He  denied  to  her  what  was 
too  plain  to  himself;  but  the  tone  of  his 
voice,  that  intimate  coldness,  seemed  to  draw 
them  forcibly  nearer.  "Now  we  11  have 
something  better,"  he  said. 

This  thing  must  stop  here,  he  determined. 
It  should  never  happen  again.  But  he  must 
hear  her  voice  just  once  again,  her  voice  in 
his  music.  It  would  make  her  his  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

He  took  up  a  piece  of  manuscript 
music. 

"  I  don't  know  it,"  she  protested  sul- 
lenly. 

"  All  the  better,"  he  said  brusquely,  and 
began  the  prelude. 

He  ran  over  the  melody  with  phrases  his 
fingers  seemed  to  linger  in  and  love  —  unex- 
pected intervals,  elusive  rhythms  —  and  gave 
her  a  look  that  said,  "Come."  She  had  to 
stoop  to  see  the  words.  These,  too,  were 
strange  to  her: 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Never  seek  to  tell  thy  love  — 

Love  that  never  told  can  be! 
For  the  gentle  wind  doth  move 
Silently,  invisibly." 

After  all,  it  was  too  much.  He  dared  not 
give  himself  up  to  it.  He  forced  himself 
to  technicalities. 

He  stopped  her.  "  Listen  to  the  time,"  he 
said,  and  played  it  over. 

She  sang  it  after  him  without  the  accom- 
paniment, and  faltered  at  an  unaccustomed 
interval. 

He  played  it  again  with  the  patience 
given  a  child's  stupidity. 

She  sang,  hating  him  with  her  every  note  : 

"I  told  my  love,  I  told  my  love, 

I  told  her  all  my  heart, 
Trembling,  pale,  in  ghastly  fears  — 
Ah,  she  did  depart!" 

He  broke  off  in  the  middle. 
"Can't   you    keep  with   the   accompani- 
ment?" 

152 


LONGACRE   TRAPS   HIMSELF 

She  raged  inwardly  —  flushing  face,  bril- 
liant eyes. 

"Is  n't  the  accompaniment  to  keep  with 
the  singer  *?  " 

"No;  with  the  song.  And  since  you 
don't  know  that,  listen  to  what  I  'm  doing. 
Hurry  those  eighths,  and  hold  the  '  G.'  That 
phrase  is  '  pensieroso.'  Don't  sing  it  like 
a  drinking-song." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  say  so !  How  do 
you  know  *?  " 

Her  angry  red  mouth  made  him  savage. 

"  I  say  so !     It 's  mine!" 

She  gasped,  suddenly  in  a  panic. 

"  I  don't  want  to  sing  it !  I  don't  know 
it!  I  — I  don't  like  it!" 

Her  helpless  confusion  shook  him  to  ten- 
derness. 

"Try  this  last  verse  with  me,"  he  plead- 
ingly insisted. 

She  began,  as  though  she  could  not  help 
herself,  in  an  uncertain  voice : 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Soon  after  she  was  gone  from  me 

A  traveler  came  by 
Silently,  invisibly. 

He  took  her  with  a  sigh! " 

Her  voice  fluttered  on  the  last  word  — 
forsook  the  note.  He  looked  up  to  see  her, 
large-eyed,  pale,  staring  at  him.  The  signifi- 
cance in  the  words  had  seized  her.  Had  he 
told  her  flatly  that  she  loved  him,  he  could 
not  have  had  her  more  by  surprise. 

"  I  — you — "  she  stammered.  The  blood 
rushed  back  to  her  face.  The  tears  were  too 
many  for  her  eyes. 

He  sprang  up.  "For  God's  sake  —  don't 
cry ! "  He  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed 
her  over-brimmed  eyes  as  if  she  were  a  child. 
She  might  well  have  been,  so  pliant  she  was 
to  his  touch,  so  comforted  with  his  lips  on 
her  eyes  and  forehead. 

An  instant  before,  antagonists;  now  their 
pulses  had  the  throb  of  one.  It  was  a  miracle 
—  wonderful!  He  kissed  her  on  the  mouth. 

154 


ii  the  last  word  — 

forsook  He  looked  up  to  see  her, 

largc-oy-  ng  at  him.     The  signifi- 

cance   .-  r?>e  words  had  seized  her.     Had  he 
'  icved  him,  he 

nor  .  nirprise. 

— "  she  stammered.     The  blood 
rush  ice.     The  tears  were  too 

i  I  •  "  For  God's  sake  —  don't 

cry  " 

her  <n  '  d  eyes  as  if  she  were  a  child. 

She  en,  so  pliant  sh« 

to  his  •-.  iforted  with  his  lips  on 

ber  ey«r  j.  ad. 

ATI  in- 

"  'For  God's  sake  — don't  cry ."  " 


LONGACRE   TRAPS   HIMSELF 

Consciousness  was  in  that  kiss.  For  a 
moment  it  knit  them  closer  together.  Then 
she  stiffened  in  his  arms,  thrust  at  him  with 
a  fury  of  strength.  He  let  her  go. 

She  drew  back ;  she  looked  at  him  with  a 
breathless  expectation  —  then  beseeching  be- 
wilderment. He  looked  at  her,  and  remem- 
bered Florence.  What  had  he  done  !  Ever 
so  slightly  he  hesitated.  Ever  so  little  his 
face  changed.  But  she  saw.  Her  look  froze. 
All  that  she  had  heard  —  and  forgotten  — 
came  back  to  her.  Blind  misunderstanding ! 
Terrible  humiliation !  She  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  She  could  n't  understand 
what  he  was  saying ;  she  was  deaf —  blind. 

He  tried  to  uncover  her  face. 

"  Let  me  go,  let  me  go ! "  she  implored. 
She  escaped  him.  Her  skirts  swept  his  feet 
in  going.  The  curtains  whispered  where  her 
passage  stirred  them.  A  fragment  of  lace  was 
in  his  fingers.  The  hollow  wood  of  the  piano 
seemed  to  hold  the  echo  of  the  last  note  sung. 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

He  stared  at  the  floor,  seeing  her  last  look. 
How  it  had  despised  him  !  Worse  —  it  had 
despised  herself.  The  past  hour  had  been 
but  a  succession  of  violent  emotions  and  in- 
consequent actions.  He  had  rushed  along 
with  them,  without  the  ability  to  think ;  and 
here  was  the  climax  —  the  result !  He  had 
wounded  the  one  whom,  above  all  others,  he 
wanted  to  protect.  Why  had  his  tongue 
hesitated  with  a  scruple  ?  It  was  too  late 
then !  Better  have  lied  to  Florence  than  let 
a  false  honor  hold  back  the  truth  from  the 
woman  he  loved. 

Loved!  He  stared  at  this  fact  —  recog- 
nized it,  astounding,  impossible  as  it  seemed. 
This  fiery  girl  had  disenchanted  him  of  every 
other  thing  but  her  own  passionate  presence. 

He  knew  he  had  asked  Florence  to  marry 
him;  and  yet  he  revolved  desperately  some 
way  of  making  Julia  believe  that  he  loved 
her.  He  would  pay  any  price  for  that. 

Could  he  pay  the  price  of  playing  false, 

156 


LONGACRE   TRAPS   HIMSELF 

of  telling  Florence  that  since  he  had  asked 
her  to  marry  him  he  had  fallen  in  love  with 
another  woman?  It  was  better  than  that 
Julia  should  remember  him  all  her  life  with 
loathing.  That  was  insupportable.  But 
could  his  freedom,  now,  bring  her  back? 
That  he  could  ever  explain  his  hesitation 
was  preposterous.  He  could  not  hope  she 
would  understand  it.  And  not  understand- 
ing, how  could  she  forgive  ?  Hopeless ! 
How  she  must  hate  him !  She  could  not 
hate  him  more  than  he  hated  himself. 

He  walked  to  the  window.  The  wind 
puffed  the  thin  curtains  against  his  face. 
The  whispering  silk  was  like  the  soft  rush 
of  her  from  the  room. 

She  was  a  child.  She  would  not  remem- 
ber too  long.  A  'hard  thought.  Perhaps 
this  whole  inexplicable  business  was  a 
madness  of  this  latter  spring,  a  thing  of 
blood. 

But   now,  here,  it  was  a   torment.     The 

157 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

thing  was  to  get  away  —  anywhere,  instantly ! 
But  there  was  Florence. 

He  came  back  sullenly  enough  to  that 
thought.  He  knew  he  must  see  her  before 
he  went.  She  had  always  stood  to  him  for 
what  was  honorable  and  reasonable  against 
what  was  impulse.  Duty  was  the  word  above 
all  others  he  hated,  but  he  was  bound  to  it 
now.  He  had  never  pictured  Florence  so 
palely  as  at  this  moment.  She  had  been 
a  fascination,  an  inspiration,  a  companion. 
She  had  been  everything  to  him.  There 
had  been  a  moment,  a  transfiguration;  and 
she  was  an  obligation,  a  debt  unpaid.  She 
deserved  a  hundredfold  more  than  he  could 
give,  and  he  almost  hated  her  for  it. 

Yet  —  he  reasoned  resolutely,  as  he  crossed 
the  library  —  she,  who  had  given  so  much, 
who  had  centered  her  life  in  his  interests,  had 
the  greatest  right  to  his  honor  and  faith. 
And  she  should  have  them,  he  thought.  But 
he  must  see  her  at  once. 

.58 


LONGACRE   TRAPS   HIMSELF 

Through  the  open  doors  of  the  reception- 
hall  he  heard  voices  from  somewhere  out  of 
sight  over  the  dip  of  the  terrace.  The  hall 
was  empty  of  all  but  a  slim,  Spanish-eyed 
rnaid  wiping  down  the  wainscoting.  She 
thought  that  Mrs.  Essington  was  in  her  room. 
She  carried  up-stairs  the  card  Longacre  wrote 
upon.  He  waited,  tossing  over  the  accumu- 
lations of  the  morning's  mail. 

A  dog  came  and  sat  in  the  open  door,  his 
tail  beating  the  mat  with  expectation  of  at- 
tention. It  was  one  of  Julia's  dachshunds. 
There  flashed  back  to  Longacre,  with  all  the 
colors  and  odors  keen  as  if  actual,  the  picture 
of  the  girl  standing  tall  and  flushed  on  the 
dripping  grass,  tossing  pebbles  down  the 
terrace. 

He  felt  a  sharp  contraction  of  heart.  That 
memory  made  what  he  was  about  to  do  un- 
endurable. 

Pinioned  between  his  alternatives,  his  eye 
caught  his  own  name  on  an  envelop  that 

159 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

carried  a  New  York  postmark.  He  took  it 
up  slowly.  He  read  the  letter-head.  This 
was  what  he  had  been  waiting  for  for  months. 
This  was  to  have  made  the  turn  in  his  life. 
Now  a  quite  different  thing  had  made  it. 
The  turn  was  a  wrench.  Everything,  beside 
it,  was  insignificant. 

He  ripped  open  the  letter  with  indiffer- 
ence. He  read  it  with  his  brain  still  tortured 
with  his  quandary,  and  got  no  meaning  from 
it,  only  an  impression  that  it  was  not  what 
he  had  expected.  He  re-read  the  cautious 
sentences,  this  time  with  attention. 

There  had  been  some  lack  of  authority  for 
the  final  decision  in  the  last  communication 
from  the  Metropolitan  Opera  Syndicate.  On 
account  of —  he  got  through  the  list  of  rea- 
sons to  the  closing  sentence  —  the  Syndicate 
could  not,  after  all,  arrange  to  produce  the 
"  Harold." 

He  stood  looking  at  the  hand  that  held 
the  envelop  while  the  blood  gathered  in  his 
160 


LONGACRE   TRAPS   HIMSELF 

face.  A  year  of  unsparing  labor,  a  year  of 
wire-pulling  and  waiting,  thrown  over  be- 
cause of  a  stronger  pull ! 

He  had  nothing  to  offer  but  failure.  No- 
thing to  offer  Florence. 

That  was  the  name  he  thought.  But  un- 
der the  thought  was  the  death  of  a  wild, 
rebel  hope. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  see  Florence  on  the 
step  above  him. 


161 


CHAPTER   IX 

MRS.    ESSINGTON    SAYS    "  NO  " 

SiE  wore    a   gown   of  sheer  white, 
with  a  mantle  of  Spanish  lace  drawn 
close    over   her  sloping   shoulders 
and  the  flowing  lines  of  her  arms. 
Above  it  her  large  gray  eyes  looked  out 
luminously. 

"  What  is  it  *?  "  she  asked.  Her  face  was 
full  of  queries.  She  divined  her  crisis  al- 
ready upon  her. 

Without  a  word  he  handed  her  the  letter. 
She  read  it  through,  dwelt  on  it  a  frown- 
ing space  —  looked  at  him  while  the  frown 
smoothed  itself. 

His  full  under  lip  twitched  with  a  sugges- 
tion half  cruel,  half  sensitive.     She  saw  he 
162 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "NO" 

was  suffering,  but  there  was  a  confusion  of 
feeling,  something  with  which  the  letter  had 
nothing  to  do. 

"  Let  us  go  somewhere  else,"  she  said. 
Her  glance  had  traveled  toward  the  open 
door. 

He  followed  her  through  the  library,  dread- 
ing lest  she  pause  there;  but  she  went  on 
into  the  conservatory. 

He  closed  the  door,  shutting  them  into 
the  room  of  glass.  In  the  midst  of  the  trans- 
parent walls,  searched  by  the  sun,  they  were 
alone.  The  north  end  where  the  outer  door 
opened,  the  south  end  looking  on  the  lift  of 
the  hill  lawn,  were  screened  thick  with  helio- 
trope and  passion-vine.  The  west  fronted 
the  skirts  of  the  terrace,  the  somber,  lonely 
oak-plantation,  the  distant  sea.  They  saw 
through  glass  the  out-of-doors,  spacious, 
fresh,  moved  by  the  wind.  Within,  the  air 
was  motionless,  too  hot,  too  sweet,  with 
scents  of  newly  watered  flowers. 
163 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

She  handed  the  letter  back  to  him  as 
though  it  were  a  mere  nothing,  saying  sim- 
ply, "  Hawtry  was  against  us  from  the  first. 
He  had  more  influence  than  we."  She  put 
it  plural  from  habit. 

"  Hawtry  was  on  the  spot,  not  dawdling 
on  the  other  side  of  the  continent,"  he  an- 
swered sullenly.  The  way  he  put  it  was 
brutal  to  her. 

"/  know  the  thing  's  all  right,"  he  said 
half  to  himself;  "  but  the  rest  of  'em  have  to 
know  it,  too!  I  've  got  to  make  'em! 
tfhat  's  my  failure.  Florence  —  as  a  force 
I  'm  nothing.  Lord !  How  I  hate  the  pub- 
lic —  and  I  'm  just  one  of  the  least  of  'em ! 
That 's  it,"  he  said.  His  chin  was  sunk  on 
his  breast. 

"The  public  is  slow  to  see  and  quick  to 
change.  What  they  think  does  n't  matter 
with  good  work." 

Her  mind  was  busy  beyond  mere  saying. 
She  had  never  heard  him  talk  in  this  strain 
164 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "NO" 

before.  She  could  remember  when  he  had 
not  known  that  his  work  was  good ;  and  he 
said  "/,"  not  "we?  She  saw  that  marked 
an  end.  More  —  he  not  only  separated  him- 
self from  her,  but  he  divided  that  self:  the 
musician — the  man,  and  called  the  man  a  fail- 
ure. The  letter  was  not  responsible  for  that. 

"  I  'd  like  to  give  you  a  better  proof  than 
this  of  what  you  've  done.  For,  Florence, 
you  have  done  everything!"  That  was 
what  he  was  saying. 

She  put  up  her  hand,  warning  the  words 
away.  "  I  don't  need  proof  of  what  you 
can  do." 

"Don't  you?"  he  questioned,  looking  at 
her.  "  Have  n't  you  begun  lately  to  suspect 
I  was  n't  worth  what  you  've  given  ?  " 

"  Tony ! "  her  reproach  was  a  cry.  "  You 
know — I  could  n't !  But  I  have  taken  more 
than  I  have  given ! "  An  insane  passion  for 
confession  was  on  her.  But  he  was  follow- 
ing his  one  idea. 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"Then  why  have  you  avoided  me  so 
lately  ?  "  She  had  been  expecting  it. 

"Have  we  ever  been  much  together 
among  people  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her,  baffled,  but  with  some- 
thing dogged  and  determined  in  his  face. 
She  had  never  seen  such  a  look  on  it  before. 
And  she  was  going  to  refuse  what  he  was 
about  to  ask.  How  broad  his  shoulders 
bulked  on  the  glare  of  glass  ! 

"Do  you  regret  what  you  said  at  the 
dance,  then  ?  "  he  persisted. 

"  No  !  "  She  said  it  with  such  vehement 
impulse  that  he  straightened,  took  a  step 
toward  her. 

"But   now  you  know  what  a  failure   I 


Oh,    Tony  —  one    failure    is    n't    fail- 


ure !  " 


"  But,"  he  gloomed  at  her,  "  it  is  if  there  's 
never  anything  else  !  " 

"There  will  be,"  she  said  steadily;  "but 
166 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "NO" 

if  there  never  were,  who  was  ever  loved  for 
his  successes!" 

"Florence,"  he  said,  "you  are  —  you  — 
oh,  I  don't  deserve  it ! "  He  took  her  gently 
by  the  shoulders.  "  Will  you  marry  me  *?  " 

The  question  was  between  them,  but  left 
each  cold.  She  was  a  long  time  looking 
out  through  the  begonia  leaves  before  she 
answered  — "  No." 

His  hands  dropped  from  her  shoulders. 
She  saw  with  a  sort  of  shock  how  sure  he 
had  been  of  her !  He  could  hardly  take  in 
what  she  meant. 

"Do  you  remember  what  you  said?" 
His  voice,  coming  after  a  minute,  sounded 
at  a  distance  to  her. 

She  could  n't  speak.     She  nodded. 

"  Then  why  —  now  —  this  ?  " 

"  Because  — "  her  voice  broke.  She  waited 
a  minute,  fighting  for  self-control ;  then  went 
on  more  quietly  — "  because  you  don't  love 
me,  Tony." 

167 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

She  startled  him.  "Florence,"  he  said 
earnestly,  "  you  wrong  us  both.  You  know 
you  've  always  been  the  only  one  !  " 

"  I  only  know,"  she  said,  "  that  you  do  not 
love  me  now — because  you  once  did.  Think ! 
Am  I  what  I  was  to  you  six  months  ago? 
Then  think  of  marriage !  A  lifetime  !  You 
will  be  still  a  young  man  when  I  am  an  old 
woman.  It  was  inevitable  this  should  end." 

"  But  why  do  you  talk  like  this  ?  "  He 
had  her  by  the  shoulders  again.  "  What  has 
age  to  do  with  it?  You  knew  that  three 
nights  ago  as  well  as  now.  It  's  an  excuse ! 
Don't  you  love  me  ?  " 

Her  voice  was  almost  listless.  "  I  love 
you  so  much  that  I  'm  not  afraid  even  of 
ending  it." 

"  Florence,  if  you  knew  how  I  need  you ! " 
How  he  touched  her  vulnerable  point !  "  If 
you  knew  how  I  have  lost  the  only  faith  I 
had  in  myself! " 

"  You  have  not!  "  she  made  passionate  de- 
168 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "NO" 

nial.  She  freed  herself,  and  stepped  back 
from  him ;  but  he  came  on  until  he  was  close 
in  front  of  her  as  she  pressed  back  among 
the  ferns.  He  looked  bewildered  —  furious. 

"  You  don't  need  me ! "  she  denied  him. 
"  We  have  given  all  we  can.  It  is  different. 
I  have  nothing  more  for  you."  She  put  her 
hands  behind  her. 

"Florence,  Florence!"  He  spoke  her 
name  threateningly.  "  That  is  just  talk ! 
Why  did  n't  you  say  at  once  you  were  tired 
of  me!" 

"  I  have  told  you  the  truth." 

"Oh,  the  truth!  Words!  Good  God, 
what  woman  ever  talked  reason  to  the  man 
she  loved ! " 

She  gave  a  little,  bitter  shrug,  as  if  his 
words  had  frozen  her  in  the  midst  of  the  sun 
and  flowers. 

"  Tou  have  nothing  to  regret ! "  he  said, 
savage  with  self-pity.  "  There 's  no  blame  — 
Lord,  I  don't  blame  you !  But  why  did  n't 
169 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

you  tell  me  — "  he  stared  at  her,  white  with 
his  dreadful  realization  —  "  why  did  n't  you 
tell  me  before  ?  " 

Scarcely  less  pale,  she  looked  back  at  him. 
What  was  it  that  had  already  happened? 
Had  everything  been  done  too  late  ? 


170 


1 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    MAD    RIDING 

3  Florence  everything  —  leaf, 
and  wind,  and  the  movement 
of  her  own  blood  —  seemed  to 
stop  and  harken  to  his  steps 
going  from  her.  To  him  the  power  and 
procession  of  incident  were  suddenly  precipi- 
tated in  a  rending  confusion,  in  which  estab- 
lished custom  was  uprooted,  faith  cast  down, 
self-confidence  shaken  to  bits. 

What  went  on  around  him  had  lost  sig- 
nificance. He  was  among  people,  talking  to 
people,  looking  at  Florence  across  the  table ; 
but  in  this  blind  rage  of  suffering  he  was  as 
indifferent  to  all  external  things  as  if  he  had 
been  alone. 

171 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Neither  Julia  nor  Bessie  Lewis  had  ap- 
peared at  luncheon.  Julia  had  sent  word 
that  she  would  be  late,  to  her  mother's  ab- 
sent-minded distraction.  Mrs.  Budd's  desire 
to  rush  away  and  fetch  her  fluttered  before 
the  faces  of  her  guests  like  a  flag  of  distress. 
In  the  end  she  was  deflected  by  an  imperative 
telephone  that  caught  her  just  as  her  guests 
were  rising.  While  they  loitered  between 
the  dining-room  and  living-hall,  chatting  in 
groups,  Julia,  with  Bessie  Lewis  at  her  heels, 
came  down  the  stairs,  habited,  hatted,  booted, 
drawing  on  her  gloves,  her  riding-whip  under 
her  arm. 

She  was  pale,  but  singularly  vivid.  Her 
dark  eyes  gleamed  under  her  thick  brows. 
Her  red  lips  were  tight  and  thin. 

Florence,  looking  quickly  at  Longacre, 
hated  the  presence  descending  the  stairs. 

"Oh,  I  say,  young  madam,"  Thair  pro- 
tested, amused;  "it  won't  do,  you  know. 
You  're  going  to  break  your  neck." 
172 


THE  MAD   RIDING 

"  Ton  are  n't  coming ! "  she  laughed  at 
him,  though  he  was  in  his  pinks.  "But 
Mr.  Holden  is ! " 

"  Here,  here  ! "  Holden  protested,  shaking 
his  head,  half  serious.  "  Don't  misquote  me ! " 

"  But  we  're  all  going ! "  she  cried,  with  a 
look  straight  at  Longacre.  "  There  are  the 
horses ! "  She  was  buoyant.  "  Are  two 
women  going  to  ride  cross-country  alone  ?  " 
she  mocked  them. 

"  By  gad ! "  murmured  Holden  in  stark 
admiration  for  such  daring. 

Julia  turned  on  Longacre.  "Are  you 
ready  *? "  she  said. 

He  stared.  Then  —  "Not  for  this,"  he 
answered  briefly. 

"  Oh ! "  Her  look  again  was  diabolical. 
"Are  you  the  man  who  was  n't  afraid  this 
morning  *?  " 

"  Did  you  accept  the  offer  ?  " 

"  If  I  did  n't  —  "  her  red  lips  curled  over 
her  teeth  —  "I  do  now  ! " 

'73 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  You  '11  break  your  neck  ! " 

"  My  neck  !  "  She  began  laughing,  as  if 
that  were  something  superlatively  ridiculous. 
There  was  a  contagion  of  recklessness  in  the 
sound  of  it.  She  leaned  a  little  nearer  and 
shook  her  head  at  him. 

"My  neck  is  worth  at  least  two  fences! 
And  yours  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  that  much !  "  It  was  an  answer- 
ing spirit. 

"  Then  come  ! "  she  cried.  "  We  '11  lead 
them ! " 

A  quick  step  hurrying  from  the  dining- 
room,  and  Mrs.  Budd's  emphatic  voice  was 
lifted. 

*'  Where  did  those  horses  come  from  *?  " 
The  tone  expressed  mere  general  wonder  to 
the  aggregation  in  the  hall,  that  quickened 
to  personal  apprehension  at  sight  of  her 
daughter  equipped  for  the  saddle. 

"  Why,  Julia  !  "  she  began.  Then  seeing 
Bessie  Lewis,  she  hesitated,  dismayed. 


• 


MH 

She  began  laughing,  as  if 
e  something  superlatively  ridiculous. 
ras  a  contagion  of  recklessness  in  the 
fit.  She  leaned  a  little  nearer  and 
sr  head  at  him. 

' ''        (    •  ;T  '     i         '•'        '(      j   "  *      f\Wl      fpnf«<»C  ' 

irs?" 


n  come  !  "  she  cried.     "  We  II  lead 

ck  step  hurrying  from  the  dining- 
d  Mrs.  Build's  emphatic  voice  was 


com      rom 


expressed  mere  general  wonder  to 
egation  in  the  hall,  that  quickened 
nal  apprehension  at  sight  of  her 

equipped  for  the  saddle. 

"  she  began.     Then  seeing 

v  ("cci,  dismavf-i 

"'Are  you  ready?'" 


THE  MAD   RIDING 

"  We  're  just  off,  mama ! "  cried  Julia.  "  I 
told  James  to  have  the  cart  ready  to  drive 
you  over  to  the  *  finish.' " 

"Off?  Over?"  Mrs.  Budd  helplessly 
questioned. 

"Why,  the  drag  —  the  drag-hunt!"  her 
daughter  exclaimed.  "You  have  n't  for- 
gotten our  great  event !  " 

"  The  drag-hunt !  My  dear  child !  Why, 
you  're  crazy!"  Mrs.  Budd's  hands  were 
eloquent  of  horror.  "Mr.  Thair  —  Mr. 
Hoi  den !  Surely  —  why,  it 's  impossible  !  " 

Thair  repudiating  all  part  in  the  proceed- 
ing, Holden  struggling  for  neutral  ground, 
Mrs.  Budd  adjuring  them  to  a  firm  stand 
with  her  against  this  harebrained  escapade,  a 
confusion  of  voices  began.  Bessie  Lewis 
wavered  in  the  face  of  her  hostess's  vehe- 
mence. In  the  midst  of  the  indecision  Julia, 
who  had  been  standing,  her  teeth  on  her 
under  lip,  her  crop  slashing  at  her  boots,  sud- 
denly recommanded  the  situation. 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Well,  I  'm  off! "  she  cried.  "  See  you 
again  at  the  '  kill ! ' " 

She  caught  up  her  riding-skirt,  and  ran 
across  the  hall  and  down  the  step.  Long- 
acre  was  after  her.  He  felt  a  horrid  respon- 
sibility for  this  mad  bravado. 

Her  foot  hardly  pressed  his  hand  as  she 
sprang  into  the  saddle. 

Mrs.  Budd  clasped  Thair's  arm. 

"  Bring  her  back !  Oh,  bring  her  back ! " 
she  entreated. 

"  Safe  and  sound  —  no  danger,"  he  reas- 
sured her. 

"  Pretty  rapid  for  the  start,"  he  smiled  to 
Holden,  as  he  tucked  up  Bessie  Lewis  on  an 
excited  mare.  "  Can  you  hit  the  pace  *?  " 

"  I  'm  with  you,"  Holden  muttered,  strad- 
dling a  dancing  bay.  "Can't  let  'em  go 
alone ! " 

They  galloped  in  the  wake  of  the  mad 
riders.  Julia's  habit  fluttered  at  the  front. 
The  reckless  spirit  of  her  rose  with  the  swing- 
176 


THE  MAD   RIDING 

ing  pace.  Just  through  the  gate  she  wheeled 
left  into  a  wagon-track  over  fields,  a  short- 
cut to  the  meet;  Longacre  followed,  a  neck 
behind.  The  rest,  going  at  a  more  dis- 
creet pace,  stuck  to  the  sea  road,  so  that  the 
two  reached  the  meet  some  few  moments 
ahead,  and  waited,  without  a  word  to  each 
other,  with  the  few  pink  coats,  among  a  yelp- 
ing pack  in  a  meadow  ruffled  over  by  the 
wind,  ringed  by  live-oaks  and  somber  cy- 
presses. The  others  came  pounding  in, 
breaking  through  the  trees  in  a  rush  of 
voices  and  color. 

"  Too  far  ahead  of  the  procession ! "  cried 
Holden. 

"You  can  follow  as  fast  as  you  please," 
called  Julia. 

"  Oh,  we  follow,  princess,  we  follow ! " 
drawled  Thair ;  "  but  don't  make  the  way 
too  steep." 

The  pink  coats  gave  curious  glances  at 
Longacre's  bare  head  and  golf  attire. 
177 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

The  uncoupled  hounds  scattered  over  the 
field,  nuzzling  through  the  wet,  brown  grass, 
till,  with  a  short  yelp  from  one  throat  and  a 
long  howl  from  thirty,  they  had  the  scent 
and  were  off.  The  field  was  bunched  at  the 
start,  Longacre  well  up  with  Julia,  who  was 
riding  hard  for  the  lead. 

The  going  was  heavy,  and  for  this  the  bars 
were  down,  but  the  girl  rode  straight  at  the 
fence.  Her  black  mare  sank  over  fetlock  on 
the  other  side,  but  was  away  with  a  bare  in- 
stant lost,  a  nose  behind  Longacre,  who,  with 
the  rest,  had  taken  the  open  gate. 

"  If  you  do  that  again,"  he  shouted,  "  I  '11 
lead  you ! " 

She  laughed  and  spurred  away  from  him. 

The  M.  F.  H.,  with  a  dismayed  look  at 
her,  was  protesting  to  Thair,  who  shrugged. 
There  was  no  help  for  it,  he  seemed  to  say. 

The  girl's  hat,  crammed  over  her  eyes, 
pressed  the  hair  to  a  close  sweep  low  above 
her  brows.  Her  nostrils  dilated,  her  color 

178 


THE  MAD   RIDING 

burned.  The  riders  strung  out,  Holden  draw- 
ing abreast  Julia,  Longacre  dropping  back  a 
length  to  Thair's  pace. 

"  Easier  going  presently,  I  trust,"  the  latter 
said,  as  his  horse  sank  an  off  leg.  "  Look  at 
the  dogs,"  he  added,  as  the  pack  darted  away 
in  a  course  almost  at  right  angles  to  their 
first.  "  We  '11  have  a  run  for  our  money !  " 

"  Stiff  going  ?  "  said  Longacre,  watching 
the  black  mare  drawing  up  on  the  M.  F.  H. 

"Ground  gets  better;  fences,  ditches, 
worse;  the  neck-breaking  course  of  the 
country."  Thair,  craning  forward,  laughed 
at  Julia.  "  The  filly  's  got  the  bit  in  her 
teeth.  Cruel  going  —  got  to  see  it  through 
somehow ! " 

He  took  the  other  side  of  a  mire  and  edged 
away  to  the  left,  seeking  the  narrowest  place 
in  the  nearing  ditch.  It  looked  easy,  a  tiny 
gully  swollen  full  by  the  rains.  But  Long- 
acre  knew  how  the  banks,  under-eaten  by 
water,  would  not  give  firm  footing  to  a  dog. 
179 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Julia  rode  at  it  as  if  it  were  a  crack  in  a  rock. 
Holden,  who  was  having  his  first  experience 
cross  country,  slacked  a  little ;  but  Longacre 
crowded  forward,  reckless  of  the  boggy 
ground. 

"  Take  it  long  —  long !  "  he  entreated. 
Her  eyes  flashed  at  him. 

"  Are  you  afraid  *?  "  she  cried. 

The  horses  rose  together.  His  went  over 
like  a  swallow.  The  black  mare  jumped 
short.  One  hind  foot  went  down,  but  hands 
and  voice  and  Kentucky  blood  lifted  her  out 
with  hardly  a  struggle. 

Holden's  bay  had  refused  the  leap.  An- 
other had  floundered  badly.  Thair's  pink 
coat  was  sailing  along  the  lower  field  toward 
a  break  in  the  brush  fence. 

"  Shall  we  lead  him  ?  "  said  Julia,  pointing 
on  with  her  whip. 

"  For  God's  sake,  go  carefully ! "  he  en- 
treated. 

It  seemed  to  delight  her  to  torment  him. 
180 


THE   MAD   RIDING 

She  pressed  forward,  looking  back  with  a 
challenge.  Her  lips,  parted  in  the  ardor  of 
excitement,  showed  a  cruel  white  of  teeth. 
The  ground  was  precarious,  but  she  rode 
headlong.  It  was  courting  destruction. 

He  kept  her  pace,  not  in  response  to  her 
reckless  spirit,  but  for  fear  of  what  might 
happen,  with  the  desperate  hope  of  averting 
disaster.  They  flew  down  the  field  toward 
the  thunder  of  the  sea,  with  the  sun  and  the 
salt  wind  strong  in  their  eyes ;  crashed  through 
the  hedge ;  scrambled  down  into  a  road,  up 
the  sandy  bank  on  the  other  side,  through 
the  scrub-oaks  with  a  rush,  and  at  once  the 
salt-meadows  were  before  them,  their  skirts 
of  cypress  black  on  a  purple  sea.  Over  the 
ocean  a  white  arm  of  fog  extended  stealthily. 
Its  thin  forefinger  pointed  landward.  Already 
the  first  films  were  caught  on  ragged  pine  and 
crooked  cypress,  like  flying  shreds  of  veil. 

"  That  '11  cut  us  short,"  said  Thair,  frown- 
ing seaward. 

181 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  It  won't  be  in  till  night,"  said  Julia, 
pricking  her  mare  till  the  creature  bounded. 

"  In  an  hour,"  Thair  decided.  "  We  won't 
make  the  cypress  plantation." 

She  spurred  forward.  "  We  '11  finish  by 
five,"  she  called  back.  "  We  can  ride  through 
a  hedge  —  we  can  ride  through  a  mist." 

"  A  ditch  in  a  fog,"  muttered  Thair.  "  Not 
me!" 

"We  can  ride  like  the  devil  and  get 
through!"  decided  the  M.  F.  H.  "The 
damned  dogs  are  off  the  scent  again !  " 

Below,  among  the  tussocks  of  the  first 
meadow,  the  pack  were  whimpering,  min- 
gling, starting  off  on  a  false  scent  —  return- 
ing, fawning,  leaping  up  on  Julia  riding  to 
and  fro  among  them.  The  exasperated  whip- 
per-in beat  at  them.  The  four  other  riders 
came  stringing  over  the  rise  among  the 
sand-hummocks. 

"  What  's  up  2  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  have  they  lost  the  scent  ?  " 
182 


THE  MAD   RIDING 

They  scattered  down  the  dip  among  the 
dispersed  and  nosing  pack. 

"  They  have  it ! " 

"  No.     Fake  scent ! " 

"Why  on  earth  is  there  such  a  long 
break  ?  " —  Bessie  Lewis's  treble. 

"7  did  n't  carry  the  drag!"  cried  Julia, 
furiously,  fretted  with  the  delay.  "  Loo,  loo, 
loo  !  "  She  urged  the  dogs.  "  Good  hea- 
vens !  I  could  find  it  quicker  myself! " 

She  could  n't  —  or  would  n't  —  rein  the 
black  in  to  the  group  gathered  in  the  lee  of 
the  dunes,  but  darted  away  with  swoops  and 
stops  beyond  the  farthest-straying  dog. 

"Can't  we  call  it  ofT? "  urged  Holden, 
looking  anxiously  at  the  encroaching  fog. 
It  was  spreading  out,  a  thick  sheet  raveling 
at  the  edges. 

"  Not  until  we  have  to  ! "  said  Thair,  well 
into  his  cross-country  humor.  "But  don't 
let  the  young  madam  get  too  far  ahead." 

Then  Longacre  —  who  had  never  taken 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

his  eyes  from  where  Julia  glimmered  down 
the  somber  sward  — "  They  have  it !  They  're 
off! "  and  was  away  after  them. 

He  heard  the  rest  hot-pace  behind,  but  he 
had  a  moment's  advantage,  and,  having  saved 
his  horse  between  ditch  and  fence,  now  drew 
away  fresh  as  at  the  start.  He  had  an  open 
course  —  two  miles  of  sandy  turf —  to  catch 
her  in.  She  had  ridden  down  near  the  sea, 
and,  following  the  pack,  now  zigzagged  up 
hill.  He,  hugging  the  line  of  the  dunes,  cut 
off  a  corner,  and  so  caught  up  with  her. 
Hearing  him  coming,  she  spurred  harder; 
but  he  drew  up  inch  by  inch,  until,  his  roan 
abreast  her  black,  they  rushed  into  the  face 
of  the  wind  together. 

Hounds  in  front  and  hunters  behind  were 
forgotten;  between  the  cypresses  crowding 
down  from  the  hills,  and  the  oblivion  of  fog 
beating  in  from  sea,  they  sped,  wild  with  the 
elation  of  flight,  unmindful  of  beginning, 
oblivious  of  end. 

184 


THE  MAD   RIDING 

Fog  was  already  streaming  among  the  fan- 
tastic trees  of  the  Point  of  Pines,  cutting 
them  off  in  front;  but  Julia  held  an  unswerv- 
ing course  until  the  damp  breath  blew  on 
her  hot  cheeks,  and  moisture  stood  in  pearls 
in  her  hair. 

The  point  went  back  from  the  sea  in  a 
low  ridge,  running  up  into  a  straggling  grove 
of  cypress.  Its  backbone  of  round,  tumbling 
stones  was  cruel  footing  for  horses.  The 
pack  made  nothing  of  it,  slipping  over  like 
snakes.  Julia  was  for  following,  but  Long- 
acre  turned  a  sharp  flank  movement  that  had 
the  black  headed  off,  flying  up  the  point  for 
the  trees,  the  pack  yelping  a  parallel  course 
on  the  left  of  the  ridge. 

Julia  brought  her  whip  down  savagely  on 
the  black's  flank  as  she  passed  him.  Long- 
acre  took  an  in-breath  as  they  swept  under 
the  trees.  The  sun  through  the  fine,  blow- 
ing mist  made  a  dazzle  for  the  eyes. 

Over  a  ground  broken  and  spotted  with 

185 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

black  stumps  the  girl  guided  her  horse  with 
admirable  skill,  Longacre  saving  his  neck  by 
luck.  Their  pace  perforce  was  slower,  dodg- 
ing the  trees  that  sprang  on  them  out  of  the 
mist  like  specters. 

Then,  with  a  hallo,  a  crashing  rush,  Thair 
broke  through  the  scrub  on  their  left.  Old 
rider  that  he  was,  he  knew  the  short  cuts  of 
every  course.  He  shouted,  and  they  swerved 
toward  him. 

"Where  do  you  think  you  're  going?" 
he  panted. 

"  After  the  hounds  ! "  cried  Julia. 

"The  wild  juggernaut  could  n't  finish  this 
run ! "  he  protested. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  The  girl  wheeled  her  horse. 
"  We  '11  be  out  of  the  mist  when  we  get  away 
from  the  point." 

"  tfhat  you  won't.     It  's  coming  in  from 
the  land,  too.     It  '11  be  thick  in  five  minutes, 
and  we  '11  snag,  or  break  our  precious  necks 
on  these  dwarf-cypresses ! " 
186 


THE   MAD   RIDING 

"  We  '11  be  out  in  half  a  minute ! "  Julia 
said,  shook  her  reins,  and  was  off. 

"  Keep  Miss  Lewis  back ! "  Longacre 
shouted  it  over  his  shoulder. 

He  heard  Thair  take  up  the  words  and 
call  them  again  to  some  dim  horseman  loom- 
ing large  in  the  mist. 

Already  the  hounds  were  a  faint  cry  far  in 
front,  the  girl  a  gray  wraith  flitting  among 
the  trees.  Now  the  cypresses  had  her !  Now 
she  flashed  into  a  clearing !  Longacre  heard 
hoofs  and  faint  voices  behind  him,  but  in 
that  fog,  that  covered  the  earth  and  swal- 
lowed the  sun,  the  rider  a  length  ahead  of 
him  was  the  only  living  creature.  Before 
them  the  slope  slid  away  into  white  oblivion. 
It  was  madness  —  this  blind  flight.  He  felt 
himself  gaining  upon  her.  His  hand  was 
ready  for  the  black's  bit.  The  thicket  opened 
out;  the  trees  fell  away  right  and  left.  A 
dark  line  swam  up  in  front. 

"  What  's  ahead  ?  "  he  shouted. 

187 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

*'  Fence ! "  She  flung  it  back  at  him  with 
a  note  of  fear.  The  sound  of  that  brought 
him  abreast  her.  Stark  and  black,  the  rails 
sprang  out  at  him.  He  saw  a  glittering  mist 
where  the  other  side  should  have  been  — 
heard  voices  shouting  through  the  fog  — 
shouting  them  to  stop.  He  snatched  for  the 
mare's  bit.  She  swerved  —  she  sprang  to 
the  spur.  He  saw  Julia's  profile,  white  on 
white,  flash  past  him.  His  ears  were  full  of 
his  own  name  —  her  voice  calling  his  name 
—  as  the  roan  leaped  upward. 

To  Thair  and  Holden,  blundering  down 
the  field,  seeing  six  feet  in  front  of  them, 
came  a  sound  —  the  dull,  unresonant  drop 
of  a  body  falling  from  a  height — a  cry,  sud- 
denly cut  off.  Involuntarily  they  halted. 
Thair  peered  into  the  obscurity.  Holden 
halloed.  The  silence  was  dreadful.  They 
edged  cautiously  forward,  expecting  a  hail 
for  direction.  Then  suddenly  out  of  the  fog 
188 


THE  MAD   RIDING 

the  black  mare  plunged  on  them,  empty 
saddle,  flying  rein. 

"  God ! "  said  Holden. 

"  E-e-easy !  "  muttered  Thair,  leading  for- 
ward cautiously. 

Now  the  stark  line  of  the  fence  rose  up ; 
now,  almost  abreast  of  it,  they  saw  the  roan 
on  the  far  side,  standing,  head  tossed ;  and 
near  him,  vague  as  ghosts,  two  figures,  one 
kneeling  by  one  prone  in  the  long,  wet  grass. 


189 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    WHITE    DARKNESS 

FLORENCE    watched    the     riders 
down  the  terrace  with  a  curious 
sense  of  participation  in  the  race. 
The  whole  thing  had  gone  with 
such  reckless  abandon !    What  had  happened 
to  set  Julia,  with  her  hot  glitter,  headlong  on 
such  an  escapade,  to  drag  Longacre  so  dog- 
gedly after  her  *?     Her  presentiment  recurred 
to  Florence  with  a  hopeless  drop  of  courage 
—  that,  after  all,  it  had  been  too  late !     In 
freeing  him,  then,  had  she  simply  thrust  him 
from  her  over  a  precipice  ? 

She  saw  from  the  veranda  the  pink  coats 
crowding  through  the  drive  gate.     She  heard 
around    her    voices    exclaiming,  reassuring, 
190 


THE   WHITE  DARKNESS 

complaining.  The  riders  had  left  behind 
them  confusion  of  a  petty,  biting  quality. 
She  felt  her  endurance  at  snapping-point. 
She  wanted  to  get  out  to  "  Tres  Pinos," 
to  stand  on  the  rocky  point,  above  the  tumult 
of  the  sea,  and  shout  against  the  shouting 
breakers. 

Instead  she  walked  among  oleanders  and 
pampas  plumes  with  a  rigorous  composure. 
The  placid  face  of  the  garden,  with  its 
blended  sweets  and  colors,  was  cloying;  the 
passionless  blue  sky,  defiant. 

She  had  let  him  go !  After  that  she  had 
hoped  at  least  for  quiet  —  even  the  quiet  of 
hopelessness.  But  here  was  only  irritating 
unrest,  a  striving  to  understand  what,  after 
all,  she  had  done.  She  had  meant  that  re- 
lease to  be  so  much  to  him !  She  kept  see- 
ing Longacre  as  he  had  left  her.  She  kept 
hearing  him  reproach  her:  "Why  did  n't 
you  tell  me  before  *?  "  The  whole  thing  was 
in  that ! 

191 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

She  paced  the  garden  over,  threaded  its 
thickets,  measured  its  lawns  with  her  steps, 
distanced  its  farthest  hedges  —  moving,  mov- 
ing, while  shadows  lengthened  over  the  lawns, 
the  light  grew  yellow,  the  sun  struck  aslant 
through  the  oaks.  Her  thoughts  kept  her 
eyes  oblivious  to  the  waning  of  the  after- 
noon, to  the  increasing  chill  in  the  breeze,  to 
the  queer,  damp  breath  that  seemed  to  come 
from  no  quarter,  but  to  exhale  from  the 
earth,  the  sky,  the  sea.  She  came  back  to 
keen  consciousness  of  her  surroundings  with 
a  high  voice  questing  her  among  the  trees. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  poked  off  here  at 
the  end  of  creation  ?  "  cried  Cissy.  "  We  're 
going  to  drive  over  to  the  club  to  see  the 
finish  and  have  supper.  It  's  the  most  we 
can  do  after  the  way  they  rushed  off  and  left 
us!"  There  was  a  pettish  twitch  to  her  tiny 
chin.  "  Emma  is  having  a  fit  for  fear  some- 
thing has  happened  to  '  dear  Julia,'  though  I 
should  say  she  's  perfectly  capable  of  taking 
192 


THE   WHITE   DARKNESS 

care  of  herself.  There  's  not  the  least  bit  of 
danger." 

"  Danger  ?  "  Florence  repeated  uneasily. 

"Why,  the  fog!  Look!"  Cissy  indi- 
cated airily. 

Florence  saw  a  gray  sea  drifting  up  the 
bay,  ocean  above  ocean,  covering  the  far 
turn  of  the  coast,  and  flowing,  white  as  wool, 
among  the  low  hills  to  the  south. 

"  Of  course  there  's  no  danger  they  '11  run 
into  it,"  Cissy  was  saying.  "  They  '11  finish 
in  less  than  an  hour  —  so  hurry." 

Florence's  first  impulse  was  to  refuse. 
Next  she  wondered  why.  She  was  too  ner- 
vous to  be  still.  She  felt,  all  at  once,  it  would 
be  a  great  relief  to  see  the  riders  come  in 
safely.  Could  she  wait  till  after  midnight  to 
be  sure  of —  of  what  would  quiet  this  sense- 
less uneasiness?  She  was  so  sure  that  it  was 
best  to  go,  she  could  hardly  credit  her  own 
refusal.  It  made  Cissy  stare.  Her  look 
was  a  mixture  of  incredulity  and  relief.  It 
193 


.      MRS.  ESSINGTON 

gave  Florence  a  faint  amusement  in  the 
midst  of  her  abstraction. 

With  Cissy  had  returned  the  rasping  con- 
fusion that  had  been  with  the  rush  of  the 
riders,  but  it  did  not  depart  with  her. 

Standing  solitary,  among  the  laurustinus 
bushes,  Florence  felt  the  impetus  of  it  about 
her.  She  watched  the  fog  gathering  in,  in- 
closing land  and  sea  in  an  ever-narrowing 
ring.  She  caught  herself  wondering  if  by 
chance  one  of  the  long  fingers  had  caught 
the  hunt  in  its  hook.  Suddenly  her  restless- 
ness, her  unease,  was  crystallized  into  a  sharp 
anxiety.  Was  it  also  an  expectation  ? 

She  heard  the  party  for  the  club-house 
drive  away  with  relief.  Why  had  n't  she 
gone  with  them"?  What  was  she  waiting 
for? 

A  veil  was  drawn  over  the  burning  disk 
of  the  sun  as  he  dipped  near  the  ocean.  She 
was  chilled  with  the  fine  approach  of  the  fog. 

She  walked  slowly  back  toward  the  house, 
194 


THE   WHITE   DARKNESS 

turning  once,  and  once  again,  to  look  behind 
her  at  the  vanishing  line  of  coast.  She  shiv- 
ered, covering  her  head  with  her  black  Span- 
ish lace  and  drawing  it  close  over  the  bosom 
of  the  white  gown  that  she  had  forgotten  to 
change. 

She  had  forgotten  time  that  day.  As  much 
had  crowded  into  a  few  hours  as  might  fill  a 
life.  Henceforth  time  would  be  too  much 
with  her. 

Her  foot  was  on  the  veranda  step  when 
she  saw  a  pink  coat  turn  in  at  the  drive-gate. 
She  strained  her  eyes.  Charlie  Thair  —  and 
without  a  hat.  She  had  never  before  seen 
him,  out  of  doors,  without  a  hat.  As  he  drew 
up  the  drive  at  a  quick  canter,  she  thought 
he  had  reined  in  a  yet  quicker  pace.  She 
stood,  arrested  in  mid-motion,  turning  to  him 
a  face  that  was  a  question.  He  was  the  first 
to  speak,  hailing  her  while  barely  within  dis- 
tance, as  if  to  make  sure  of  the  first  word. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Budd,  Mrs.  Essington  ?  " 

'95 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  She  drove  over  to  the  country  club  with 
the  others  to  see  the  finish.  What — " 

"  Thank  God !    Are  you  the  only  one  here?  " 

"Yes.     What  is  it?" 

"  Did  they  take  the  victoria  *?  " 

"No;  who  is  hurt?" 

He  only  looked  at  her. 

"  Is  it  —  is  it  — "  she  put  her  hand  to  her 
throat — "Julia?"  she  brought  out  desper- 
ately. 

"  No,  not  Julia."  He  looked  at  her  very 
keenly,  very  kindly.  He  need  not  have 
spoken  the  name  that  followed.  She  knew 
before  she  heard. 

She  got  her  breath  with  a  sobbing  sound, 
pressing  her  hand  to  her  side. 

"  Oh,  not  a  bad  fall, —  not  bad,  Mrs.  Es- 
sington!"  Thair  was  beside  her.  She  thought 
he  steadied  her.  "  Some  of  the  youngsters 
lost  their  heads,  got  into  the  fog.  He  went 
after  'em  —  took  a  nasty  fence.  Stunned, 
possibly  a  broken  bone  —  nothing  for  the 
196 


THE  WHITE   DARKNESS 

hunting-field,"  he  smiled  to  her.  He  kept 
her  from  going  to  pieces.  But  she  looked 
through  him.  He  saw  he  had  not  reassured 
her,  and  was  glad  she  knew,  in  spite  of  him, 
how  bad  it  might  be. 

"  It  was  too  far  from  the  club-house  to  get 
him  there,"  he  said.  "  Must  have  a  carriage 
and  a  doctor." 

"  Doctor !  "  she  repeated,  catching  at  the 
word  as  something  to  help  pull  herself  to- 
gether. "  Who  is  there  ?  " 

He  gave  a  name  and  number.  She  went 
in  to  the  telephone,  dazed,  dreamy,  not  half 
taking  in  what  had  happened.  All  objects 
were  confused,  all  thought  stunned  in  her. 
She  seemed  to  be  floating.  But  the  curt 
professional  voice  that  answered  her  over  the 
telephone  woke  her,  spurring  her  faculties 
to  activity.  She  was  kept  minutes  when 
seconds  were  so  precious.  She  could  hardly 
hear  him  out. 

She  snatched  a  flask  from  the  butler's  pan- 
197 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

try,  a  man's  coat  from  the  rack  in  the  living- 
hall,  dragged  rugs  and  cushions  from  the 
divans.  She  was  heaping  them  into  the  vic- 
toria when  Thair  came  around  from  the  sta- 
bles. The  overcoat  covered  her  gown,  but 
the  lace  was  still  over  her  head  from  which 
her  face  looked  a  sharp,  silvery  oval. 

"  The  doctor  can  be  here  in  half  an  hour," 
she  said.  "  Can  we  take  a  short  cut  ?  " 

"  I  '11  show  the  man ;  I  'm  going  to  ride," 
Thair  said,  putting  her  in.  He  took  her  go- 
ing as  the  thing  most  to  be  expected.  She 
leaned  from  the  carriage.  The  sharp  motion 
arrested  him  like  a  detaining  hand. 

"  Who  was  it  he  went  after  ?  " 

Thair  looked  at  her.  For  a  moment  he 
hesitated.  Then,  "  Yes,  it  was  she"  he  said. 
"  Now  then  " —  to  the  man  —  "  lively  !  " 

The  carriage  spun   over  the   coast  road. 
Its  wheels  flew,  halos  now  of  mud,  now  of 
water.     The  span  were  at  their  sharpest  trot, 
but  to  Florence  they  seemed  to  crawl. 
198 


THE   WHITE  DARKNESS 

The  fog  was  all  around,  over,  eddying  like 
smoke  among  the  trees.  Somewhere  under 
its  oblivion  breakers  were  rolling  in  with 
sullen  voices  and  heavy,  crashing  fall  upon 
the  sand. 

She  leaned  forward,  peering  into  the  gray 
blur  before.  She  was  conscious  only  of  in- 
terminable mist  and  one  person  it  held  away 
from  her.  She  watched  Thair's  pink  coat 
moving  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp.  Now  it 
stopped.  Thair  shouted  to  the  driver.  The 
victoria  turned,  dipped  under  the  trees,  passed 
between  two  gate-posts.  She  saw  long  grass 
under  the  wheels.  The  carriage  rocked  over 
broken  ground.  The  horses  were  at  a  canter. 
Through  a  second  gate,  with  a  lurch,  one 
wheel  thumping  over  the  bars  half  drawn 
aside.  They  were  in  the  fields,  with  the 
ocean's  hoarse  voice  dwindled  to  a  whisper 
that  was  "  Hush  !  "  while  her  heart,  audible 
to  her  in  the  deep  silence,  drummed  "  Hurry, 
hurry,  hurry ! "  Then  above  the  melancholy 
199 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

sea  she  heard  the  sharp  chopping  of  the  pack. 
Cruel  sound  !  It  made  her  shiver.  Then  a 
hallo.  Gray  shapes  moved  in  the  fog  like 
shadows  on  a  sheet.  One  was  close  to  the 
carriage,  a  woman  crying.  Then  Holden's 
voice  saying  to  Thair,  "Quicker  than  we 
hoped  " ;  then,  beside  the  carriage,  exclaim- 
ing, "  Florence ! " 

Her  name  was  on  his  lips  for  the  first  time. 
She  did  not  hear  it. 

"  Where  is  he  *?  "  she  said. 

"  Wait  here,"  Holden  answered,  and  rode 
ahead. 

The  carriage  stopped.  She  sprang  out  and 
ran  forward  a  few  steps  —  paused.  She  saw 
two  men  coming  toward  her,  carrying  some- 
thing between  them.  Nearer,  she  saw  it  was 
a  man.  He  hung  dead  weight,  head  fallen 
back,  arms  hanging,  hands  trailing  in  the 
long,  wet  grass.  Behind,  like  a  following 
dog,  came  a  tall  bare-headed  girl.  It  seemed 
unreal,  a  play  scene,  till  she  saw  the  injured 
200 


THE    WHITE   DARKNESS 

man's  face,  dead  white,  with  a  dark  streak 
across  the  mouth  that  lengthened  it  out  into 
a  horrible  smile. 

"  Over  here,"  Florence  said  to  the  coach- 
man. Her  voice  was  lost  in  her  throat,  but 
he  obeyed  the  beckoning  hand.  She  was 
back  in  the  carriage.  The  men  were  lifting 
up  the  burden  her  hands  reached  for. 

"  Easy  with  the  shoulders  !  "  Thair  mut- 
tered. They  laid  it  on  the  heaped-up  cush- 
ions. Trembling  as  she  was,  she  seemed  to 
lift  and  move  the  inert  body  as  easily  as  the 
men.  She  stooped  and  wiped  away  the  stain 
that  disfigured  the  poor  face.  And  then  it 
seemed  the  vacancy  of  it  was  the  saddest 
look  it  could  have  worn. 

"Can't  we  get  back  by  a  road?  The 
cut 's  so  rough  ?  "  she  appealed  to  Holden. 

The  somber  eyes  of  the  men  consulted 
each  other. 

"  Yes,"  Thair  decided;  "  strike  the  country- 
club  road  over  here.  Longer,  but — better." 
201 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Holden  nodded  to  the  whipper-in. 

"  We  '11  go  ahead  and  knock  out  some 
rails." 

"  You  'd  better  go  back  to  the  house  with 
'em,"  Thair  called  after  him.  "  We  '11  ride 
over  and  let  'em  know  at  the  club."  He 
turned  to  Julia,  who,  through  it  all,  had 
stood  back,  not  moving  or  taking  her  eyes 
from  the  shape  in  the  carriage. 

"  Ton  ought  to  go  in  the  victoria." 

She  turned  her  eyes  quickly  to  Florence. 
She  put  her  hands  to  her  face.  "No!  No!" 
she  cried  with  vehemence  —  it  might  have 
been  horror. 

Florence  looked  at  her.  Julia's  habit  was 
torn  away  at  the  waist,  her  hair  falling  on 
her  shoulders.  She  looked  stunned,  stupid. 

Florence  turned  to  Thair.  "  Can  she 
ride?" 

"  I  can  ride,"  Julia  repeated  dully.  Thair 
was  holding  the  black,  but  she  made  no 
motion  to  mount.  She  only  stood  watching 

202 


THE   WHITE   DARKNESS 

the  black  bulk  of  the  carriage  laboring  away 
across  the  broken  field. 

Four  riders  waited  uncertain,  whispering, 
looking  after  the  carriage,  looking  at  Thair, 
looking  at  Julia. 

Bessie  Lewis  was  mopping  her  cheeks  with 
the  wet  ball  of  her  handkerchief.  She  gave 
a  hysterical  gasp.  "  Oh,  Julia,  your  habit !  " 
She  dabbed  nervously  at  the  skirt. 

Julia  roused,  shrinking  away  from  the 
touch,  turning  to  Thair.  He  almost  lifted 
her  to  the  saddle.  But  once  up,  she  seemed 
to  wake,  to  stiffen.  She  let  him  take  the 
rein  and  lead  the  black  through  the  ragged 
opening  left  by  the  torn-away  rails.  The 
carriage  had  turned  down  the  road  under  the 
overarching  trees. 

Thair  watched  her  anxiously.  He  kept 
her  rein.  He  turned,  touching  his  horse 
lightly  with  the  spur. 

"  If  you  can  ride  as  far  as  the  club  — "  he 
began. 

203 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

She  pulled  herself  together,  alert,  staring 
at  him,  at  the  whispering  four. 

The  rein  jerked  out  of  Thair's  hand.  He 
half  turned  in  his  saddle,  blank,  dismayed, 
as  she  wheeled  and  rode  furiously  after  the 
victoria. 


204 


CHAPTER   XII 

MRS.    ESSINGTON    SAYS    "  YES" 

DA.RK  had  shut  down  in  a  weep- 
ing mist  when  the  carts  from 
the  country  club  drove  up  the 
"  Miramar  "  terrace.     The  doc- 
tor's  dry,    professional    presence    met   Mrs. 
Budd's    voluble   anxiety  on   the    threshold, 
and,  in  a  measure,  smoothed  it. 

Oh,  it  was  all  right  —  all  right,  he  assured 
her;  only,  the  place  must  be  kept  quiet. 
(He  had  a  grudging  eye  for  the  people  get- 
ting out  of  the  carts.)  The  patient  ought 
to  be  moved  to  the  cottage  hospital,  but  — 
He  pursed  out  his  lips.  .  .  . 

But  Mrs.  Budd  would  n't  hear  of  such  a 
thing !     Since  the  poor  young  man  was  her 
205 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

guest,  had  been  hurt  —  she  saw  it  dramati- 
cally —  in  saving  her  daughter — 

The  doctor's  hands  waved  it  away. 

"  My  dear  madam,  that  's  not  the  point. 
I  want  this  case  under  my  eye." 

"  Oh !     Is  it  as  bad  as  that?  " 

His  look  was  everywhere  but  at  her. 

"Not  at  all  —  the  usual  thing.  These 
youngsters  all  do  it,  but  —  send  these  people 
away ! " 

It  was  hushed  enough  that  night,  the  house, 
but  full  of  whispers,  conjectures,  things  told 
and  asked. 

"  Why,  what  happened  ?  " 

Nobody  knew  exactly. 

"  But,  afterward,  you  should  have  seen  her 
face ! " 

"  Oh,  just  queer  —  dreadful  !  " 

"  But  she  was  that  at  the  start !  " 

"Then,  of  all  things,  her  riding  after  them!" 

"  Them ! " 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Essington  came  for  him." 
206 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "YES" 

"  Mrs.  Essington  !     Well ! " 

So  much  was  out,  and  so  flat,  one  did  n't 
know-what  might  jump  out  next.  Julia's  in- 
difference —  a  stunned  quiescence  under  her 
mother's  reproaches  and  the  curious  glances 
of  the  guests — her  white  face,  her  blank  eyes, 
added  the  last  touch.  "Queer"  was  the 
word  for  it,  and  this  "  queerness "  clung  to 
them,  held  them  irresolute,  was  almost  too 
much  for  their  sense  of  decency.  It  needed 
just  a  turn  to  start  them  off,  and  this  Thair 
gave,  cornering  Cissy  Fitz  Hugh,  who,  in  the 
midst  of  the  indecision,  preserved  a  settled 
air. 

He  wanted  to  know  was  she  aware  that  an 
early  train  and  an  eight-o'clock  breakfast  re- 
quired bags  packed  overnight  *? 

Cissy  was  mildly  surprised.  "  How  can  I 
leave  Emma  at  such  a  time  *?  " 

"Has  she  asked  you  to  stay?"  Thair 
rather  brutally  threw  at  her. 

"  But  she  does  n't  have  to  ask  me  !  " 
207 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  I  should  think  not  —  since  she  's  already 
asked  two  people  whom  she  seems  to  want, — 
Mrs.  Essington  for  one  —  myself  for  another." 
He  smiled  diabolically. 

Cissy  gasped.  "As  an  old  friend,  there 
are  some  things  I  might  do  for  Emma  —  " 

"  My  good  Cicely,  there  's  only  one  thing 
you  have  n't  done.  Do  go,  like  a  decent 
woman ! " 

"But  the  others?"  She  was  injured. 
"  Are  n't  they  going,  too  *? " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  they  are,"  he  grinned, "  if  you 
mention  it  to  'em." 

She  was  indignant,  but  her  departure  was 
by  the  morning  train  that  swept  the  house  of 
all  its  guests. 

Holden  left  with  the  others,  but  instead  of 
traveling  townward  went  to  the  hotel.  He 
had  seen  Florence  first. 

He  would  like,  he  said,  to  escort  her  if 
she  could  let  him  know  what  day  she  was 
going  up  to  San  Francisco.  He  was  think- 
208 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "YES" 

ing  of  the  promise  she  had  made  him,  that 
morning,  driving  out  to  the  links.  Through 
all  the  perplexing  appearances  of  the  last 
three  days  he  had  held  by  that  as  something 
tangible. 

She  had  forgotten  it. 

She  did  not  know  when  she  would  be 
going;  could  not  tell  him.  Her  pallor,  her 
heavy  eyes,  the  look  she  had,  while  she 
talked,  of  listening  for  something  —  all  were 
eloquent  to  plead  for  her.  He  did  n't  under- 
stand it,  but  he  waited. 

She  was  merely  grateful  to  him  that  he  let 
her  alone.  At  the  moment  she  was  living  so 
in  another's  life  that  she  seemed  to  own  no 
separate  existence.  She  seemed  to  waver  be- 
tween living  and  dying.  When  the  relapse 
that  followed  the  fever  dropped  him  lowest, 
she  felt  herself  reaching  out  toward  death. 
When  the  crisis,  passing,  drifted  him  back, 
she  felt  herself  quickened.  The  most  she 
had  ever  wished,  then  seemed  granted  her. 
14  ,  209 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Not  only  while  she  was  with  him,  but  when 
she  was  away,  alone,  she  felt  herself  drawn 
somehow  closer  to  him  than  ever  before.  She 
had  forgotten  the  other  people.  She  had  for- 
gotten the  separation.  While  he  lay,  with 
the  returning  tide  of  living  yet  so  low  in  him 
that  he  could  hardly  lift  his  eyelids,  she  was 
happy. 

From  half-consciousness  Longacre  roused, 
on  the  fourth  day,  to  a  clearer  sense  of  what 
was  around  him.  While  Florence  was  in 
the  room  his  eyes  followed  her  as  if  fearful, 
should  he  turn  them  away,  she  would  vanish. 
Twice  he  tried  to  ask  a  question,  but  the 
whisper  failed  him.  Her  ear  to  his  mouth 
could  not  catch  it. 

She  fretted,  wondering  if  she  had  grown 
deaf  that  she  could  not  understand  what  he 
so  much  wanted  to  know ! 

He  lay  with  the  question  shut  in  his  half- 
closed  eyes  until  the  fifth  morning,  when  his 
voice  grew  from  a  breath  to  a  sound;  and 

210 


MRS.  ESSINGTON    SAYS   "YES" 

she  heard,  his  lax  fingers  in  her  firm  ones, 
her  eyes  dropped  to  meet  his,  lifted. 

"  Is  she  safe  ?  " 

It  took  Florence  a  moment,  groping  into 
what  was  past,  to  understand,  to  realize; 
and  another  moment,  while  she  looked  across 
the  bed,  through  the  window,  into  the  open 
sky,  to  answer  —  "  Yes." 

With  that  he  closed  his  eyes  and  turned 
away  his  head,  as  though  there  were  nothing 
more  in  the  world  to  ask.  She  rose  and 
went  to  the  window. 

She  seemed  to  see  Julia's  blank  eyes  — 
how  they  had  leaped  to  life  at  sight  of  her ! 
And  then  the  girl's  cry ! 

The  sick  man  slept. 

Florence  wrestled  with  emotions,  primi- 
tive, savage. 

That  he  should  ask,  with  his  first  breath, 
that!  That  with  her  assurance  he  should 
turn  from  her  to  sleep,  without  a  look,  a  word, 
a  memory ! 

211 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Yet,  she  told  herself,  what  wonder  that 
the  last,  violent  instant  before  unconscious- 
ness should  rise  before  him  with  his  reawak- 
ening. Had  the  question  any  personal  sig- 
nificance ?  Had  not  his  eyes  followed  her? 
Did  n't  he  now  turn  to  her,  away  from  all 
the  rest"?  Had  not  the  wild  girl,  with  her 
piece  of  folly,  closed  the  door  on  that  inci- 
dent *?  What  could  renew  it  ? 

It  was  a  question,  a  cry,  half  hoping  — 
but  she  knew  it  was  a  forlorn  hope. 

He  reawakened  early  in  the  afternoon. 
His  first  stir  brought  her  to  him,  still  hot 
from  her  conflict  with  herself.  He  was 
stronger  this  time,  more  awake  to  living. 
He  did  not  ask,  but  demanded. 

44 1  must  get  out  of  here,"  he  said. 

Her  amazement  questioned  him.  He 
dwelt  long  on  her  face,  seemed  to  pluck 
some  significance  from  it. 

"You  know,"  he  asked,  "how  it  hap- 
pened? Howl  —  '?" 

212 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "YES" 

She  nodded  yes. 

Again  he  stared  at  her  long  and  steadily. 

"  Don't  blame  her,"  he  said  slowly.  "  It 
was  not  her  fault.  Mine  —  mine  ! " 

"  Never  mind,"  she  told  him ;  "  we  can  go 
to-morrow." 

To  hear  him  accuse  himself  for  that  other 
was  more  than  she  could  bear.  Again  he 
seemed  to  divine  her. 

"You  don't  know,  Florence,  what  hap- 
pened that  morning.  I  was  —  I  am  —  "  he 
seemed  to  contemplate  himself — "something 
no  woman  could  forgive  !  It  left  her  in  such 
a  way — oh,  wretched !"  His  head  rolled  on 
the  pillow.  His  eyes  drooped  away  from  her. 

Florence  recalled  how  he  had  met  her  at 
the  stair-foot  with  the  letter  in  his  hand  and 
some  greater  trouble  in  his  face.  Then  that 
angry  insistence  of  his  in  the  glass  room  had 
been  simply  reparation!  He  had  known  then 
that  he  loved  the  girl,  and  somehow  known 
too  late.  And  he  had  told  Julia  that!  She 

213 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

saw  with  dreadful  clearness.  Did  everything 
go  back  to  the  night  when  she  had  wanted 
and  taken  so  ruthlessly  what  she  desired  ? 
It  was  not  Julia,  but  she,  herself,  who  had 
led  that  leap  in  which  he  had  fallen. 

"  I  must  get  away,"  she  heard  him  mutter. 

In  her  own  room  she  lay  a  long  time,  ac- 
customing herself  to  the  new  face  of  the  sit- 
uation, struggling  back  from  extremes  of 
self-hate  and  self-love  to  a  clearer  vision. 
She  must  touch  again  what  she  had  so  hoped 
she  had  finished  with.  Something  she  had 
called  fate  had  seemed  to  be  thrusting  him 
from  that  girl ;  but  fate,  as  she  looked,  grew 
to  wear  too  much  her  own  aspect.  Had  she 
let  conditions  alone  in  the  beginning  —  but 
she  had  fought  them,  curbed  them  in  a  mea- 
sure to  her  will.  She  had  made  a  catastro- 
phe, and  she  must  mend  it.  That  was  the 
reason  of  it.  But  under  reason  was  a  pas- 
sionate desire  that  he  should  be  happy.  That 
covered  everything. 

214 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "YES" 

His  self-accusation  recurred  to  her. 
"  Something  no  woman  could  forgive." 
Could  not  that  girl  forgive  him  that  he  was 
loyal  *?  But  she  was  so  young,  so  appallingly 
young !  And  oh,  the  dangerous,  difficult 
task  of  playing  another's  game  for  him ! 
Yet,  could  he  have  played  it  himself,  had  he 
had  his  strength,  he  would  have  made  it  a 
different  matter.  Now,  all  he  could  manage 
in  his  great  bodily  weakness  was  that  one 
absorbing  desire  to  get  away.  She  knew 
how  impossible  it  was  to  deflect  him  where 
once  his  obstinate  mind  was  made  up.  She 
felt  every  moment,  with  his  returning 
strength,  her  chance  was  slipping  further 
from  her.  But  she  was  baffled.  Turn  and 
twist  as  she  could,  she  was  shut  fast  in  the 
middle  of  a  deadlock. 

The  departure  of  all  the  amalgamating 

presences  had  left  the  estrangement  of  these 

few  so  closely  concerned  a  naked  fact.    They 

felt  its  presence  palpable  among  them.     It 

215 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

filled  the  rooms  of  the  house,  sat  between 
them  at  table,  walked  with  them  in  the  gar- 
dens. Julia,  unreachable  behind  her  hard 
indifference,  through  which  her  voice  broke 
sometimes  with  sharp  suggestions  of  collapse ; 
Mrs.  Budd,  nervous,  vacillating,  strung  to  the 
verge  of  tears ;  she,  herself,  out  of  love  with 
everything  but  the  hope  of  one  man's  life ; 
all  were  desperately  at  odds,  no  one  trusting 
another. 

Thair,  alone,  had  given  her  the  sense  of 
an  outsider.  If  he  were  in  the  midst  of  it 
as  much  as  any  one,  it  did  n't  touch  him. 
The  very  perfection  of  his  manner,  meeting 
those  anxious,  studying  looks  Mrs.  Budd 
threw  at  him,  was  assurance  that  he  knew 
his  uneasy  place  in  her  conjecture.  To  Flor- 
ence he  had  been,  with  his  unconcern,  like 
fresh  air  in  a  close  room.  He  perfectly  un- 
derstood ;  and  he  took  it  easily.  Their  tacit 
understanding  was  the  only  note  of  confidence 
in  the  unquiet  house. 

216 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "YES" 

She  knew  he  knew  to  a  certain  point  just 
how  she  stood ;  but  that  point  was  the  turn 
where  she  had  let  Longacre  go.  Just  how 
far  Thair  missed  this,  she  had  read  in  his 
kind,  congratulatory  looks  at  her  —  his  odd, 
half-protecting  air  of  seeming  to  ease  her 
off,  as  much  as  possible,  from  the  strain, 
the  reiterant  conflict  of  mother  and 
daughter,  as  from  something  quite  beside 
her  interest. 

He  had  never  had  so  much  that  air  to  her 
as  now,  this  afternoon,  when  he  encountered 
her  stepping  through  the  tall  French  window 
upon  the  veranda,  and  turned  and  lifted  the 
passion-vines  for  her  to  pass  under  —  such  a 
pretty  thing,  she  thought,  for  a  man  to  do 
for  a  woman  as  old,  as  haggard,  as  self-ab- 
sorbed as  she.  They  went  the  length  of  the 
fennel  walk  together.  She  remembered  the 
morning  when  Longacre  had  left  Julia  so 
impetuously  to  follow  her  as  something  that 
had  happened  a  very  long  time  ago  —  some- 
217 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

thing    into    which    Thair's    voice    dropped 
sharply,  shattering  the  image. 

"  We  are  to  be  abandoned,"  he  was  say- 
ing. "  The  young  madam  is  leaving  us  for 
town." 

She  stood,  looking  over  the  sun-drenched 
terraces.  The  thing  had  come  on  her  so 
suddenly !  She  had  lost  her  chance  !  She 
put  her  hand  to  her  forehead.  This  would 
be  the  end !  The  thing  would  just  fall  to 
pieces  by  itself! 

Then  the  lasting  silence  got  her,  and  she 
looked  at  Thair.  He  was  looking  at  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  *?  "  that  look  was  say- 
ing. "  Is  n't  it  all  right  ?  Are  n't  you  glad? 
Was  n't  it  that  that  you  wanted  ?  " 

Her  reply  was  just  her  look  of  despair. 

"  What  can  I  do ! "  She  might  as  well 
have  said  it  out.  It  was  so  clear  between 
them  that  his  answering  her  with  words 
seemed  quite  natural. 

"Can  I  do  anything?" 
218 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "YES" 

She  looked  away  from  him  to  that  glitter- 
ing spot  where  the  sun  struck  the  sea. 

Why,  there  was  only  one  thing  any  one 
could  do,  so  elemental  that  it  took  this  sharp 
necessity  to  make  it  possible.  She  saw  now. 
It  was,  all  along,  the  only  thing  she  could 
have  done. 

She  turned  back  to  Thair,  whose  last 
question  hung,  waiting  her  answer. 

"No,  nothing  —  you  're  good  —  not  now 
—  except  let  me  go  back  alone  ! " 

She  ran.  From  the  moment  he  had  con- 
founded her  she  had  dropped  all  considera- 
tion of  appearances.  On  the  stair  she  passed 
a  maid,  her  arms  heaped  with  newly  ironed 
linen  and  delicate  flowered  fabrics  —  frocks 
Julia  had  worn  about  the  house.  Then  she 
must  be  packing.  She  would  be  in  her 
room.  Half-way  down  the  upper  hall,  Flor- 
ence heard  the  rushing  approach  of  sweeping 
silk.  She  stopped,  almost  opposite  her  own 
door,  and  waited.  Julia  came  down  the  hall, 
219 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

headlong  even  when  walking.  She  saw 
Florence  not  until  she  was  upon  her.  She 
started,  drew  herself  together,  made  to  go 
on,  hesitated. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  ? "  she  said.  Her 
voice  gave  the  commonplace  sharp  signifi- 
cance, as  though  her  very  self  depended  on 
the  "  anything  "  she  could  do. 

"Yes,"  Florence  said,  holding  open  her 
door.  "Come  in." 

The  girl  gazed,  as  if  this  were  the  last 
thing  she  had  expected.  Her  eyes  looked 
out  blackly,  defiance  through  suspicion,  as 
the  door  closed  after  her.  "  See  how  miser- 
able I  am,"  they  seemed  to  say,  "  but  don't 
dare  pity  me  ! "  Her  face  was  startling,  be- 
wildering. It  meant  so  much  more  than 
seemed  in  nature,  even  in  a  woman  who  had 
injured  the  man  she  loved.  It  had  the  fur- 
tive suffering  of  a  creature  in  a  trap.  It 
seemed  that  at  any  moment  her  strained 
voice  would  break  into  a  cry. 
220 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "YES" 

"  You  're  going  to-morrow  ?  "  Florence 
asked  her. 

Julia  stiffened.  Her  manner  was  perfunc- 
tory. "Yes,  I  'm  going  up  to  town.  If 
there  is  anything  I  can  do  for  you  there  —  " 

"  Are  n't  you  needed  here  ? "  Florence 
asked  her.  She  felt  quieted  by  the  other's 
agitation. 

The  girl  stared  as  if  she  suspected  she  was 
made  sport  of.  "  I  ?  Oh ! "  She  smiled 
sharply. 

"Are  you  sure  there  is  nothing  you  could 
do  by  staying?  "  Florence  persisted. 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,"  Julia  replied,  still 
in  that  whetted  tone  that  served  to  defend 
her  weakness.  "  My  fault  it  happened  !  It 's 
done.  How  can  I  mend  it  ?  Oh,  do  you 
think  any  one  regrets  it  more  than  I  ?  I 
would  do  anything  —  anything?  she  repeated 
with  sudden  vehemence,  "  to  change  it,  to  — 
but  it  is  impossible  !  "  Her  hands,  that  she 
had  pressed  together,  fell  apart.  She  turned 
221 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

nervously  toward  the  window,  as  if  the  sight 
of  the  wide,  warm  garden  could  help  her. 
But  Florence  moved  to  intercept  the  glance. 

"  If  one  had  injured  a  person  one  loved  —  " 
she  began.  She  stopped,  startled  at  the 
application  those  words  had  for  her  own 
case. 

"  A  person  one  loved  !  "  Julia  repeated. 
The  words  seemed  dragged  out  of  her  throat. 
She  turned  on  the  other  woman  piercing 
eyes.  "  But,  if —  he  did  not  love  you  *?  If 
he  loved  another  woman  "?  " 

Florence  pressed  her  hand  to  her  side. 

"And,  loving  her,"  the  girl  rushed  on, 
"  still  gave  you  a  —  a  pretense  for  truth  —  if 
you  had  hurt  him  mortally  —  oh,  mortally  — 
what  would  you  do  *?  " 

Florence,  white,  breathing  short,  looked  at 
the  floor.  It  seemed  rising  up  to  strike  her. 
She  was  overwhelmed  that  Julia  had  divined 
her  case  —  had  guessed, —  a  dozen  frantic 
suppositions  flew  through  her  mind.  Then 

222 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "YES" 

the  fact  flashed  on  her:  the  girl  had  only 
cried  her  own  tragedy !  But  how  was  it  hers  ? 
How  could  it  be  Julia's,  when  Longacre  had 
told  her  —  ?  Florence  filled  her  lungs  with  a 
deep,  slow-drawn  breath,  as  if  she  were  draw- 
ing in  courage  to  face  what  was  rising  in  her 
mind.  It  was  Longacre's  face  as  it  had 
peered  up  into  hers  that  morning,  and  his 
voice  restlessly  repeating,  "  I  am  something 
no  woman  could  forgive  ! "  Her  quickening 
comprehension  embraced  what  that  might 
be.  Longacre  had  told  Julia  nothing !  She 
put  her  hand  out  behind  her,  touched  the 
table  to  steady  herself.  The  passionate  grati- 
tude that  rose  in  her  at  his  forlorn  loyalty 
stood  still  when  she  raised  her  eyes  to  Julia's 
face.  She  knew  what  the  girl  was  suffering. 
It  was  what  she  herself  suffered,  but  worse, 
for  Julia  was  blind.  Julia  could  see  no  way 
out  of  it,  and  Florence  herself,  for  a  moment, 
was  nerveless  before  the  enormousness  of  her 
own  task. 

223 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

Her  voice  came  weakly.  "  I  would  be 
very  sure,  first,  that  he  did  not  love  me."  The 
answer  seemed  her  own  as  well  as  Julia's. 

The  girl's  eyes  blazed  at  her. 

"  Don't  you  know  *?  "  she  said. 

But  Florence  expected  to  be  stabbed. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  she  answered  steadily ;  "  but 
you  must  see  him  yourself." 

The  girl's  bosom  lifted  sharply.  "  Oh,  no  !  " 
she  breathed.  She  stood  up.  She  seemed 
to  tower  over  the  other  woman.  She  seemed 
to  force  it  home  to  Florence  how  impossible 
it  was  to  find  a  way  out. 

"  Oh,  if  you  knew,"  she  cried,  "  you  could  n't 
ask  it !  Even  you  could  n't  wish  me  such  — 
such  humiliation." 

"  If  I  knew  ?  "  Florence  repeated,  dreading, 
shrinking  from  any  further  revelation. 

"  What  happened,"  Julia  moaned,  turning 
away. 

"  Would  what  happened  seem  any  less  im- 
possible," Florence  slowly  began,  "  if  the 
224 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "YES" 

man  thought  himself  bound  in  honor  to  an- 
other woman  —  " 

"  thought!  "  Julia  cried. 

"  A  woman  whom  he  did  not  love,"  Flor- 
ence kept  on ;  "  to  whom  he  was  tied  by  old 
promises,  with  whom  now  there  was  nothing 
but  an  old  friendship  ?  " 

Julia  looked  at  her  a  little  wildly. 

"I  —  don't  know  what  you  mean ! " 

"  I  mean  this  woman  did  not  —  was  not 
in  love  with  him  any  more.  When  she 
knew  of — of  you,  she  released  him." 

"  But  that  was  after  —  " 

"  What  happened  ?     Yes." 

"  Then  he  did  n't  keep  faith  with  her  — 
with  either!"  Julia  cried,  still  fixing  Flor- 
ence with  her  white,  quivering  face. 

"  Because  he  loved  you." 

Julia  seemed  to  stand  there   irrationally, 
convinced  by  the  sound  of  Florence  Essing- 
ton's  voice  —  by  just  the  weight  of  its  own 
deep,  passionate  conviction. 
15  225 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Then  why  could  n't  he  have  told  me  ?  " 
the  girl  murmured  forlornly.  "  I  would  have 
believed  him !  Why  could  n't  he  trust 
me!" 

The  last  words  caught  a  little  bitter  echo 
in  the  woman's  heart.  She  silenced  it.  She 
took  Julia  by  the  shoulders,  who  had  slid  to 
the  floor,  half  kneeling,  half  sitting,  the  tears 
slipping  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Even  if  you  love  him,"  she  cried,  "  is  n't 
he  human?  Can't  you  forgive  him  that 
much  ?  He  will  forgive  you  —  men  forgive 
more  in  women ! " 

Julia's  hands  held  the  folds  of  her  gown. 
"  But  what  can  I  do  ?  "  she  implored.  She 
hung  on  the  other's  words  with  a  passionate 
dependence. 

Florence,  with  an  impulse,  took  the  face 
between  her  hands. 

"  Be  sure  you  want  him  more  than  any- 
thing else,"  she  murmured. 

The  head  inclined  faintly.  The  wide  eyes 
226 


MRS.  ESSINGTON   SAYS   "YES" 

still  held  hers  with  their  piteous  stare  and 
falling  tears. 

"Go  to  him,"  Florence  whispered.  She 
felt  the  girl  trembling. 

"  When  ?  " 

"Now!" 

Julia  sobbed.     "  My  mother ! " 

"  That  will  come  afterward.  Never  mind 
any  of  the  rest  of  us  —  what  we  do  and  say. 
It  does  n't ,  matter.  Only  think  of  him ! 
Promise  me  you  won't  leave  him  until  you 
have  made  it  right ! " 

"  Are  you  sure  I  can  *? "  the  girl  whispered, 
with  such  a  face  of  hope  and  fear,  such  joy 
struggling  with  tears,  that  Florence,  remem- 
bering in  what  hard  ways  even  the  greatest 
love  may  lead,  leaned  down  and  kissed  her. 

"  Quite  sure,"  she  said. 

Julia  drew  yet  closer.  "  Are  you  sure  he 
—  he  loves  me?"  The  last  words  were  a 
breath. 

Florence  drew  back  coldly.  "  You  must 
227 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

go  now"  she  said.  Then  seeing  Julia  shrink 
at  her  strange,  dry  voice,  she  added,  "Do 
you  think  he  would  tell  that  to  me?"  —  at 
what  cost  she  herself  did  not  measure. 

But  she  did  not  realize  that  she  was  in  the 
midst  of  her  crisis.  She  was  too  much  in  it 
to  look  back  or  forward.  She  saw  only  out- 
ward actions,  the  minute  present.  When 
she  spoke  with  the  nurse  at  the  door  of  the 
sick-room  her  voice  was  even  matter-of-fact. 

The  white-capped  woman  came  out. 
Florence  waited  until  she  went  into  another 
room  farther  down  the  hall.  Then  she  al- 
most pushed  Julia  in.  "  No  one  will  come," 

she  murmured  as  she  closed  the  door  after 
her. 


228 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THAIR    CONGRATULATES 

FLORENCE  sat  down  in  the  win- 
dow-seat in  the  dusky  hall.     The 
diamond  panes  of  milky  glass  let 
in   a  misty  light.     She   drew  the 
drapery  of  the  dark  curtains  around  her,  the 
better  to  insure  against  interruption.     The 
house  was  silent  at  that  long  hour  of  the 
afternoon  when  all  the  day's  processes  seem 
to  stand  still,  and  heart  and  brain  alike  grow 
torpid.     She  waited,  as  still  as  her  still  sur- 
roundings, a  piece  with  the  dull  curtain,  until 
an  opening  door  should  reanimate  her  to 
living. 

At  the  sound  of  an  approaching  step  — 
was  it  an  hour  or  a  day  she  had  kept  her 
229 


,  MRS.  ESSINGTON 

post?  —  she  started  nervously  Through 
the  slightly  parted  curtains  she  watched  the 
stair-turn  anxiously.  That  long,  dangling, 
masculine  figure  was  at  least  not  Mrs.  Budd. 
She  sighed  relief.  It  was  Thair.  He  came 
on  with  his  elegant  slouch,  turning  down  the 
hall  toward  the  window  embrasure,  stopped 
a  moment  on  the  threshold  of  the  morning- 
room,  looking  in  with  a  questing  turn  of  his 
long  neck,  strolled  on,  craning  at  the  alcove 
curtains. 

Florence  thrust  them  back.  Evidently  it 
was  not  she  he  was  looking  for.  He  was 
surprised,  and  something  more,  hardly  curi- 
ous, but  a  look  that  harked  back  to  what  had 
been  revealed  him  on  the  terrace. 

"  I  am,"  he  explained  to  her,  "  in  search 
of  the  young  madam."  He  added  with  a 
considerative  smile,  "  Our  last  ride  together 
—  if  she  has  anything  to  say  about  it." 

Her  face  showed  an  odd  mingling  of  dis- 
tress and  relief. 

230 


THAIR   CONGRATULATES 

"  But  you  will  have  to  wait.  She  can't  be 
disturbed  now." 

"  Well " —  he  dawdled  over  it  a  minute  — 
"but  she  will  be  disturbed.  /  '//  wait,  of 
course ;  but  will — Mrs.  Budd  ?  "  He  brought 
it  out  with  the  faintest  embarrassment. 

Florence  looked  at  him,  considering. 

"  It 's  just  what  she  never  will  do,"  he  said. 
"  She  '11  expect  to  see  us  off." 

Her  answer  was  the  dismayed  sound  that 
escaped  her  lips.  She  put  her  hand  out  with 
a  gesture  that  warned  him  back.  They  were 
like  a  small  secret  conclave,  shut  in  their 
alcove  behind  the  curtains,  stilled  in  the 
middle  of  their  plots. 

A  door  down  the  hall  had  softly  closed. 
They  saw  Julia  stand  for  a  moment  outside 
the  door  of  Longacre's  room.  Then  she 
turned  and  came  slowly  along  the  hall.  She 
was  coming  down  upon  them,  and  with  every 
step  she  overwhelmed  them  more.  Such  a 
strange  Julia,  so  pale,  so  unimperious,  with 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

all  her  sparkle  stilled  !  Yet  she  shone  !  Her 
great  dilated  eyes,  her  face,  dawning  on 
them,  glimmering  by,  looked  aghast  with 
happiness. 

Florence  was  trembling.  Her  eyes  were 
on  the  narrow  slit  between  the  curtains  where 
that  vision  of  Julia  had  passed.  She  could 
not  speak  immediately  when  she  finally 
turned  to  Thair.  He  was  looking  at  her 
with  the  oddest  possible  expression. 

"  Well,  it  does  n't  matter  about  Mrs.  Budd 
now"  he  said.  His  usually  smooth  voice 
sounded  uneven.  "  She  's  done  for ! " 

At  this  the  lines  in  her  forehead  grew  deep. 
"  If  one  could  only  make  it  easier  for  her ! 
It  is  dreadful!     But  —  did  n't  you  see,  just 
now*? —  it  was  the  only  thing  to  do  ! " 

"  Dear  girl,"  he  earnestly  assured  her,  "  that 
you  think  so  is  enough  for  me !  But  you 
can't  show  it  to  her,  poor  lady ! " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  sudden  flash. 
"  Ton  could  make  it  easier." 
232 


glimmer; 

Florence  was  trembling.     Hr 
on  the  narrow  slit  between  the  curta 
that  vision  of  Julia  had  passed.     She 
not   speak    immediately   when    she    ; 
turned  to   Thair.     He  was   looking  a 
with  the  oddest  possible  expression. 

"  Well,  it  docs  n't  matter  about  Mrs.  > 
now"  he  said.     His  usually  smooth   voice 
sounded  uneven.     "  She  's  done  for ! " 

At  this  the  lines  in  her  forehead  grew  d 
"  If  one  could  only  make  it  easier  for  her' 
Jt  is  dreadful!     But  —  did  n't  you  see,  jusl 
now* —  it  was  the  only  thing  to  do ! " 

•v  Dear  girl,"  he  earnestly  assured  her, 4t  th:if 
you  think  so  is  enough  for  me!     But  you 
.how  it  to  her,  poor  lady ! " 

"Such  a  strange  Julia!" 


THAIR   CONGRATULATES 

"  I  ?  "     He  was  blank. 

"  If  she  thought  —  if  she  knew  that  some 
other  hope  she  may  have  had  for  Julia  — 
was  —  could  n't  you  make  her  know?" 

At  this  he  fixed  her  with  his  old  diabolical 
glint. 

"You  mean  I  could  congratulate  her — 
heartily?" 

Her  answering  smile  was  wan.  She  left 
it  to  him. 

He  looked  back  at  her  once  as  he  went 
down  the  stair. 

She  held  herself  still  until  he  was  out  of 
hearing.  Then,  on  tiptoe,  she  stole  down 
the  hall  to  the  door,  and  hesitated  with  beat- 
ing heart.  There  was  nothing  in  the  world 
she  so  dreaded,  nothing  she  so  much  wanted, 
as  to  see  Longacre,  to  hear  his  voice.  She 
slipped  into  the  room,  expecting  to  find  it 
somehow  extraordinarily  changed,  revolu- 
tionized. There  was  a  change.  It  was  in 
the  man  who  lay  upon  the  bed. 

233 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

He  lay,  eyes  closed,  face  quiet.  But,  ah, 
asleep !  The  strong  structure  of  the  face 
came  out  startling  in  its  emaciation.  She 
looked  at  that  face,  dwelt  upon  it,  saw  in 
the  salient  lines  something  she  had  been 
seeking  since  she  had  known  it.  Dared  she 
think  this  had  come  through  her  —  the  last 
thing  she  had  given  him !  She  waited  to 
see  those  obstinate  lids  unclose. 

She  had  come  so  lightly  he  had  not  heard 
her.  She  would  not  for  the  world  have 
spoken,  but  if  she  looked  at  him  —  he  must 
know  she  was  looking  at  him ! 

Then,  as  he  lay  so  still,  not  a  muscle  of 
the  sensitive  mouth  moving,  breathing  lightly, 
regularly,  it  came  upon  her  that  he  wished 
her  to  suppose  him  asleep. 

A  faint,  cold  breath  ran  in  the  nerves  of 
her  body.  She  turned  her  head  quickly 
away,  as  though,  through  their  closed  lids, 
his  waking  eyes  could  spy  on  her. 

She  had  thought,  child-blind,  not  of  friend- 


THAIR   CONGRATULATES 

ship,  not  of  recognition  for  what  she  had 
spent,  but  of  just  that  last  bitter-sweet  confi- 
dence when  he  would  tell  her,  show  her  with- 
out words,  perhaps,  how  much  this  new  hap- 
piness would  be  to  him.  And  he  hid  it  from 
her! 

Well,  he  was  right.  How  impossible  any- 
thing else  was  !  There  were  barriers  of  grat- 
itude—  yes,  and  higher  yet  than  those  — 
barriers  she  herself  had  reared  between  them ! 

She  stood,  hands  limply  dropped,  head 
bent.  She  saw  shadows  of  jessamine  leaves 
moving  like  fine,  gray  fingers  on  the  sunny 
floor. 

She  had  no  more  right  in  that  room  than 
the  veriest  stranger. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  QUEEN'S  COURTESY 


I 

-^L. 


cart  drew  up  at  the  station 
with  a  bounce.  Before  it  had 
fairly  stopped,  a  large  man  in 
the  clothes  of  a  working  citi- 
zen, with  the  umbrella  and  bag  of  a  traveler, 
sprang  out  and  made  a  rush  for  the  door  of 
the  ticket-office. 

A  lean,  brown  fellow  in  riding-trousers, 
who  was  dawdling  on  the  platform,  stared 
and  laughed. 

"  Holden,  what  's  the  rush  *?  " 
"  Good  Lord,  have  I  missed  it  ?  "  gasped 
the  other. 

"The  train?"  Thair  yawned.  "Twenty 
minutes  early." 

236 


THE  QUEEN'S   COURTESY 

"  They  told  me  I  'd  barely  make  it ! " 
Holden  stared  resentfully  at  the  vacant  rails. 

"H'm.  Del  Monte,"  Thair  smiled. 
"  Even  the  clocks  are  fast ! "  He  squinted 
at  the  sky,  soft  sapphire-blue. 

"  Why  go  up  to-day  ?  Wait  over,  and 
I  '11  show  you  a  bit  of  a  cross-country  run." 

"  Thanks,"  grunted  Holden ;  "  I  've  had 
my  money's  worth."  The  grunt  ended  in  a 
grin. 

Thair  chuckled. 

"Well,"  Holden  demanded  impatiently, 
"  how  is  it  over  at  the  house  ?  " 

"  We-e-ell," — Thair  drawled  out  the  word 
interminably,  while  amused  recollection 
crossed  his  face, —  "the  rains  fell,  and  the 
winds  blew !  /  stayed  at  the  club  through 
the  worst  of  it.  I  was  sorry  for  the  women 
—  the  young  madam  and  Mrs.  Essington. 
They  had  to  stick  it  out." 

"  You  mean  Mrs.  Budd  was  so  annoyed  ?  " 
Holden  was  a  little  puzzled. 

237 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"  Annoyed !  Oh,  Lord,  that  's  not  the 
word !  Cis  says  *  upset.'  That  's  nearer, 
only  seventeen  times  more  upset  than  usual ! 
Poor  woman,  she  feels  that  Julia  owes  the 
man  some  reparation  for  *  breaking  his  neck/ 
but  marriage  seems  to  her  extreme." 

"  But  what 's  the  objection  ?  He  seems  a 
decent  sort  of  chap." 

"He  is;  the  decentest  of  his  sort;  but 
it 's  not  the  sort  madam  had  hoped  for  Julia. 
Money,  y'  know,  and  —  well,  composers 
seem  a  bit  out  of  the  way  to  her.  But  the 
girl  has  too  much  blood  to  take  — "  he 
smiled  quizzically  —  "  what  was  the  '  correct 
thing.' " 

"I  've  had  an  idea  that  this  would  come 
about  from  the  first,"  said  Holden,  compla- 
cently. 

"  M'm  ?  "  Thair  mused,  interrogative. 

"  Mrs.  Essington  's  been  immensely  inter- 
ested in  those  two  young  people.  Should  n't 
wonder  —  " 

238 


THE  QUEEN'S   COURTESY 

Thair  bit  off  a  smile.  "Remarkable 
woman,  Mrs.  Essington,"  he  observed. 

"  That  damned  train  Js  spending  the  night 
on  the  switch,"  growled  Holden.  He  did  n't 
look  down  the  track,  but  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  "  Miramar  "  runabout  that  had  just  come 
into  sight  around  the  turn  of  the  drive. 

The  lady  who  sat  so  erect  beside  the 
groom  was  Florence  Essington. 

Holden  looked  relieved.  Thair  indulged 
in  what  might  be  called  a  mental  whistle. 
He  gave  one  sharp  glance  at  Holden,  whose 
attention  was  engrossed  by  the  approaching 
vehicle ;  then  a  frank  smile  and  a  wave  of 
the  hand  toward  the  lady  —  a  salute  she  re- 
turned in  kind.  The  approaching  train  hur- 
ried their  greetings  and  farewells,  but  in  that 
short  time  he  got  an  impression  of  a  more 
obvious  sophistication,  a  more  pronounced 
worldliness  in  her  than  he  had  recalled. 

Her  gown,  black  with  dashes  of  white, 
suggested  the  last  and  finest  flight  of  fashion; 

239 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

her  manner,  the  latest,  most  charming  impor- 
tation; her  very  movement,  a  consciousness 
of  the  keen  eye  of  the  world. 

While  he  pondered  whether  these  differ- 
ences did  not  merely  enhance  the  beauty  of 
her  shadowed  eyes,  her  black  and  white 
glimmered  through  the  door  of  the  car. 
Holden  waved  his  hand  from  the  step  and 
followed  her. 

Thair  wandered  down  the  platform  toward 
where  the  groom  held  his  uneasy  mount. 

"  That 's  a  match,"  he  muttered.  "  She  '11 
take  him.  That  's  what  she  means.  She  's 
wise.  Great  woman !  If  a  man  were  fool 
enough  —  h'm,  h'm  ! "  He  nodded  to  the 
groom. 

Holden,  having  established  his  bags  in  a  seat 
near  the  door,  took  the  chair  next  Florence. 

She  was  merry,  full  of  twisted  phrases, 
making  him  laugh  in  spite  of  his  impatience. 

"  I  believe,"  he  told  her,  half  in  earnest, 
240 


THE  QUEEN'S   COURTESY 

"  it 's  because  you  've  fetched  that  engage- 
ment you  're  in  such  spirits." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  me  a  match-maker  *?  " 
she  laughed. 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  'd  be  one  for  yourself," 
he  said  bluntly. 

Florence  bit  her  lip.  She  was  hating  to 
face  what  she  knew  she  finally  must. 

"  Don't  you  remember,"  he  went  on,"  a  few 
days  ago  you  said  you  would  have  something 
to  tell  me  on  our  way  back  to  town  ?  " 

A  few  days  ago !  Could  it  be  possible ! 
She  looked  out  of  the  window.  Past  rushed 
a  stream  of  black  oaks  pricked  through  with 
flashes  of  sea. 

She  knew  what  she  would  answer.  She 
had  turned  it  over  for  twenty-four  hours.  She 
had  not  dreamed  how  hard  it  would  be  to 
utter.  His  kindly  eyes  were  bent  upon  her 
with  a  steady  patience,  but  his  blunt  fingers 
drummed  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"  I  tried  then  to  make  you  see,"  she  began, 
16  241 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

"that  I  was  n't  merely  putting  you  off.  I 
did  n't  know  then  just  what  I  could  say  — 
how  much  I  was  fit  for  what  you  ask  of  me." 
She  supported  his  look.  "  Now  I  am  sure  I 
am  not." 

He  waved  away  her  objection  with  his 
large,  open  hand.  "Are  you  the  judge  of 
that?" 

"  Who  else  ?  Do  you  think  I  could  take 
without  giving  ?  If  I  loved  you  it  would  be 
different." 

"  Yes.  Well  —  I  hardly  hoped  that,  after 
what  you  said  the  other  day,"  he  answered 
sturdily ;  "  but  we  are  no  longer  children ;  I 
would  not  ask  too  much  of  you.  You  are 
a  woman  of  wide  interests,  and  my  life  takes 
me  so  much  among  people,  manipulations  of 
men  as  well  as  things,  you  might  —  " 

She  took  it  up.     "  Yes,  if  I  could  give 

your  interests  all  my  interest,  all  my  energy, 

my  thought,  as  I  might  have  done  once,  as  I 

would  now,  gladly,  if  I  could.     But  I  can't. 

242 


THE  QUEEN'S   COURTESY 

I  have  used  up  such  power  as  I  had.  I  've 
done  all  I  can  do  in  other  people's  interests. 
Now  my  interests  will  be  scattered.  My 
ways  are  already  fixed.  You  offer  me  an 
active  life  in  the  world,  but  I  am  through  my 
activities." 

"Good  Heaven!"  he  broke  out;  "why, 
you  talk  as  if  you  were  old  — you,  with  the 
best  of  your  life  before  you !  " 

Her  smile  was  tight.  "Perhaps  I  have 
lived  through  things  too  quickly.  But  I 
know  I  like  you  too  much  to  cheat  you, 
which  I  should  do  if  I  married  you.  I  can't 
—  can't  do  it!  Believe  me,  I  would  like  to 
give  you  what  you  ask,  but  I  have  n't  it." 

"  Is  this  the  last  word  ?  "  he  said,  half  risen. 

She  nodded,  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 

He  saw  them,  and  touched  her  arm.  "Don't, 
don't ! "  he  said  gently.  "  I  suppose  you 
know  what  is  best  for  you ! "  The  accent 
fell  on  the  last  word  sadly.  He  rose;  she 
saw  him,  a  dim  bulk  on  the  light  window- 

243 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

square  as  he  stooped  to  gather  up  bags  and 
umbrella;  saw  him  passing  her.  The  door 
closed  behind  him. 

Florence,  with  a  shiver,  relaxed  from  her 
tension,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  a  little 
weakly.  Her  eyes  closed.  All  the  glitter 
she  had  shown  them  on  the  platform  had 
fallen  away  from  her;  and  thus,  with  shut 
eyes,  her  unlighted  face  showed  exhaustion 
so  deep  that  peace  seemed  the  next  thing  to 
it.  The  noise  of  the  train  swam  heavily  in 
her  head.  She  had  no  thoughts,  only  —  as 
now  and  again  she  opened  her  eyes  —  a  vague 
noticing  of  small  things ;  and  then  at  sight  of 
green  onion-fields  wheeling  past  the  window, 
a  sad  stab  of  memory.  She  shut  her  eyes, 
lest  some  other  sight  remind  her  too  cruelly 
of  what  was  left  behind.  She  did  not  sleep. 
She  was  unconscious  of  time  in  her  deep, 
complete  lethargy  of  soul  and  brain.  When 
she  opened  her  eyes  again  the  lights  were 
swinging  down  the  middle  of  the  car,  and 
244 


THE  QUEEN'S   COURTESY 

through  the  windows  she  looked  out  over 
water,  beautiful  violet-blue  in  a  softly  gath- 
ering dark.  The  train  was  puffing  slower, 
and  now  a  glimmering  succession  of  windows 
shut  out  the  water. 

The  dark  tunnel  of  the  ferry-house  encom- 
passed her,  but  the  memory  of  the  purple 
flash  of  sea  lingered  with  a  vivid  pleasure  — 
more  vivid  that  the  glimpse  had  been  so 
short  —  as  she  followed  the  rush  out  of  the 
car  door.  The  cool,  soft  wind  on  her  face, 
the  crowd  tearing  to  and  fro,  roused  her. 
The  "overland"  was  just  pulling  out;  a 
string  of  electric  lights,  white  jackets  jump- 
ing to  the  platforms,  faces  peering  from  the 
windows,  it  passed  her.  She  felt  a  queer 
throb,  a  wish  to  be  going  with  it  somewhere, 
outward  bound.  What  had  she  to  hold  her 
anywhere  ?  But  even  with  the  thought  the 
sense  of  poignant  personal  loss  would  not 
rise  up  before  her.  Her  lethargy  was  lost, 
but  her  consciousness,  no  longer  concen- 

245 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

trated  upon  herself,  was  relaxed  to  a  keener 
perception  of  her  surroundings  —  of  the  high, 
dusky-vaulted  ferry-house,  echoing  full  of 
voices  and  footsteps;  of  the  fitful  play  of 
light  on  the  foam  churning  through  the  tall 
piles  of  the  ferry-slip;  of  the  crowd  she 
moved  among,  streaming  down  the  ferry 
gangway,  a  succession  of  faces  glimmering 
past,  each  stamped  with  its  headlong  per- 
sonal object.  They  were  still  spurred  and 
ridden  by  it,  while  she  .  .  .  The  salt  breath 
of  the  sea  rushed  up  to  meet  her,  with  sug- 
gestion of  the  immensities  of  oceans. 

She  found  an  outside  seat  forward. 

It  was  an  evening  clear,  moonless,  with  a 
marvelous  purple  over  water  and  sky.  Every 
light  of  the  ships  in  harbor  was  reflected,  a 
trailing  glory,  in  the  glassy  bay;  and  the 
ferry  was  plowing  through  them,  with  its 
dull,  monotonous  pulse  like  the  beat  of  a 
heart.  The  white  bulk  of  a  steamer  moved 
directly  before  its  course,  white  lights,  green, 
246 


THE  QUEEN'S   COURTESY 

red  lights  —  the  Nippon  Maru  outward 
bound.  Florence's  eyes  followed  it.  And 
there  stirred  faintly  in  her  the  passion  she 
had  always  cherished  for  the  mysterious  other 
side  of  the  world  —  Japan,  and  that  great 
continent  beyond  it.  And  as  the  immensity 
unrolled  before  her  —  the  thousands  of  miles, 
the  millions  of  people  with  passions  identi- 
cal, with  ideals  unintelligible  to  hers,  but  in 
the  great  sum  of  existence  as  necessary  — 
the  vast,  varied  face  of  the  world  diminished, 
dwarfed  her  own  identity. 

She  had  one  of  those  fortunate  moments 
when,  the  body  being  very  weary,  the  spirit 
takes  its  opportunity  and  mounts  beyond  the 
body's  demands.  If  she  had  put  it  to  her- 
self, she  would  have  said  she  had  "got  out- 
side of  things."  It  floated  before  her,  more 
like  an  impression  than  a  thought,  that  to 
have  had  one's  happiness  was  what  counted, 
though  it  passed  like  the  glimpse  of  purple 
sea.  And  the  eye  of  the  soul  that  could  catch 

247 


MRS.  ESSINGTON 

it,  could  treasure  it  up  to  carry  into  some  dim, 
empty,  echoing  time-to-come.  The  time 
of  activity,  of  struggle  for  what  was  most  de- 
sirable, most  beautiful,  or  most  necessary  to 
life  —  the  delights,  the  sufferings,  the  defeat- 
ing, the  half  successes  —  this  time  inevitably 
was  ended.  Sometimes  the  change  life  made 
was  death,  sometimes  only  another  face  of 
life,  as  now  it  came  to  her  —  a  time  of 
waiting,  of  watching,  of  trying  to  perceive 
and  understand,  from  the  passionate,  personal 
motives  acting  themselves  out  around  her, 
the  great  intention  of  the  whole. 

Before  her  the  lights  of  the  city  were  all 
alive,  trailing  around  the  water-front,  march- 
ing over  the  hills,  ringing  them  with  fire, 
and  trembling  away  into  the  large  stars  of 
the  low,  soft  sky.  Her  hand  was  on  the 
rail,  and  she  dropped  her  chin  upon  it,  look- 
ing longingly,  searchingly  into  the  heart  of 
the  glittering  tangle,  as  if  it  were  the  verita- 
ble tangle  of  life. 

248 


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